"No, of course I can't, at least not down to the party," Erwin responded hastily.  Almost unconsciously, he found himself pacing back and forth in the little nook, several steps from one wall to the next.  And although the window was now closed, and his body was still warm from the alcohol and their near encounter, he also felt a slight chill against his skin. "But we need to act, tell somebody.  Lord Burrows.  Kristian and Marcel." He turned to Olive, a frown plastered all over his face. "If soldiers are at the Aeling, they could be here within the month.
Silas said that a message should arrive tomorrow, so that would give us at least one more day.    My brothers would not question it if we talked to them.  If nothing else, they could ride for Arbutus Vale and start mustering what troops Kristian can afford."  If they were still sober enough to listen at this hour.

Like Olive, he too was internally chastising himself for having let this whole marriage business distract him from having focused harder on the inevitable conflict with Kenins that they had both anticipated.  Not that they hadn't made any preparations.  Most of the army had dispersed back to their respective provinces months ago, with the few remaining troops still stationed in what was left of Valence, but riders were ready at a moment's notice to send word to call to arms again.  But as far as the Keep knew, while Kenins, for months, had been pouring honeyed poison in the ears of any Lords who would listen to him, there hadn't been a single messenger reporting that troops were actively gathering under the Chancellor's banner.  And so there hadn't been a need for Duke Therrien to muster troops to his own camp. 

His hands came up to rub at the sides of his temples.  Nothing about the whole situation felt right.  "You could be right about mercenaries," he said, stopping to look over at Olive even as his mind conjured up the map of Wulfbauer adorning the desk in his study.  The wooden pieces marking the map would have to be adjusted now.  "But we would have heard about it by now.  It's a week's ride from Kenins' lands to the Aeling, and it would take a column of soldiers twice that long to cover that much ground, not to mention the time it would have taken to gather the troops of the Lords loyal to him.  Even if he was trying to paint a picture of 'protecting the land,' the timing is all off.  It would be obvious that the whole thing was coordinated."

He shook his head again, trying to make sense of it all.  Why hadn't they received word about any of this yet?  "Like you said, confrontation isn't his style.  But Kenins has been sowing discord among the southern and eastern lords for months now, and he hasn't been shy about it.  He couldn't take the Dukeship with a vote, and he knows he has no other choice now but to use force.  Maybe Kenins is pivoting his strategy.  He isn't a soldier, but Lord Kassian is, and that's certainly something he would do."   

The old straw mattress was uneven, hard, and lumpy, but Erwin barely felt it digging up against his back as he lay there with Olive straddling him.  As she pinned down his wrists and feigned deviousness with her humor, he opened his mouth to respond in kind, but she closed that distance too quickly for him to get even a word out.  Not that that was an issue.  He hungrily returned her kiss as his hands ran up her lean thighs and backside and then grasped her roughly by the hips to draw her to him, the muscles of his back taut as he arched up to meet her body.  There was a lingering warmth in his chest from the spirits, but that paled in comparison to the intoxication from feeling her flush skin, the heat between her legs against his own throbbing groin, the urgency of their shared breaths against each other's mouths. 

Then, he sensed Olive hesitating even with their bodies pressed up against one another.  He gazed up at her as their rhythmic movements slowed and, suddenly, she stopped still.  For a brief moment Erwin, chest pounding, wondered if she was beginning to have second thoughts about all of this, the same doubts that they'd somehow managed to push to the wayside up here in the isolation of the attic, that he was loath to let come back between them.  But there was something else about her expression that he could only half discern in the semi-darkness, that made her seem... troubled.  As she extracted herself from his lap and stepped over to the window, Erwin pushed himself up against his elbows, his blue eyes following her silhouette, a small, confused frown creasing his brow.  "What..." he started to say, but the words died on his lips. 

As she pulled open the small glass window, the distant, muffled echoes of laughter and merriment filtered in.  But he, too, suddenly had only eyes for the small bird that seemed to be the focus of Olive's attention.  And though the small bead of light might have been little more than a white dot in the shadows, it was so out-of-place in the darkness that it might as well have been fireball the way his eyes immediately locked on it, his breath hitching in his throat.  His unblinking gaze followed Olive's naked form all the way from the window, and he sat up now as she knelt back beside him and pressed her cupped hand to his ear, anticipating what he might hear in that small pocket of air, and dreading that he might be right. 

That voice.  Hearing it now was almost an out-of-body experience, as though his mind could not process how he could physically be sitting on this lumpy mattress when clearly he should be out in the wild somewhere, conversing with Silas Greene, the renegade mage.  "It's your friend Silas," he mumbled at some point, though he barely heard his own voice as he listened.  His gaze had fallen when the voice first started speaking, but slowly Erwin's eyes rose until they were staring right at Olive, the expression on his face morphing from confusion to stunned silence, his brows raising and his mouth sliding slightly agape.  By the time the report was finished, whatever exhilaration they'd wrapped themselves in with their intimate ministrations had all but evaporated, replaced by a curdling sensation in the pit of his belly.

"Angsar's balls..." he managed to say, before a second later the gravity of Silas' words truly hit him.  Then, suddenly, he was scrambling to his feet, the news having sobered him better than any bucket of cold water ever could have.  "Angsar's fucking BALLS!"  Quickly, his eyes scanned the corner for where he'd kicked his trousers when she first removed them from him. "Kenins has mobilized his men westward to the Aeling, burning the countryside as they go," he explained hastily, "He's declaring war."

He looked pointedly at Olive, an almost apologetic look in his eyes, a part of him wishing that they could just forget all of this and get back on the mattress.  But that look was quickly overtaken by a more familiar, harder expression.  "We need to get back downstairs."

Erwin's eyes drifted to the full glass balanced so delicately in Olive's outstretched hand as she pulled away from the kiss, and something about her posture caused the onset of a slight grin to curl up the corners of his mouth.  "Oh, just drink it or bring it with us," he murmured in a low but decidedly lighthearted tone.  That levity was only amplified when she spent a long moment tenderly seeing to the safety of that precious bottle.  And here he was gulping it down like a savage.  At least, with her back turned to him, she afforded him an opportunity to wrinkle his nose and lick at his gums to try to rid some more of that alcoholic aftertaste.  It probably would have tasted better if he sipped it like she did, like he was supposed to.

When Olive turned back to press up against him, Erwin was there to meet her kiss with just as much energy as she brought.  Their lips still locked, his body moved willingly and fluidly with hers as she pulled him with her and towards the makeshift bed.  Along the way, his hands wrapped around her slender waist, then deftly felt up her sides and along the contours of her neck as he kissed her.  Up here, away from all of the noise downstairs, away from the appearances and expectations, there was a relaxedness and confidence to his motions that perhaps would not have been possible earlier that evening, but was on full display having committed to this singular moment.

As they reached the edge of the bed, his foot bumping up against the side of the mattress, Erwin found the thin straps holding up her slip.  With an almost practiced ease, he hooked his fingers under the bands and slid them off of Olive's shoulders, letting the garment fall away from her.  He pulled back just slightly to gaze down at her body, at the smoothness of her skin, before his left hand found the nape of her neck and he pulled her mouth into his again, his right hand reaching down to work at undoing his trousers.

The quizzical look on Erwin's face slowly morphed into a contained mirth as Olive provided an explanation for the dusty spear.  The image of a young Constance Carwick running around and stabbing sacks of grain with the spear seemed exactly consistent with how he'd remembered her – a troublemaker whose escapades somehow always resulted in his own headaches.  But that was a lifetime ago for both of them and, with his passing curiosity having been more than satisfied by her response, he carefully leaned the weapon back against the corner next to the longbow.

Turning, he accepted into his hands the glass that was presented to him, peering down into its amber contents.  It had a stronger, more distinctive aroma than the Serenian liquor that Marcel had pushed on him, but after all this time having avoided even a drop of the stuff, the only thing he could really discern was that it burned his nostrils.  That, and the fact that like Olive, it also triggered memories of days past, though his were decidedly less nostalgic.  For a moment, Erwin could almost swear that he felt an itch along the thin scar running across the side of his neck.  Ten long years. 

After having spent perhaps a second too long looking down into the cup, Erwin finally glanced back up at Olive and shot her half a smile, clinking the glass against hers.  "We can figure out the escaping part later," he responded.  "Here's to this respite from a long day, and to hopefully finding a towel." He didn't bother correcting her characterization that they were still his quarters.  Like she'd said, this was a breather – from those complicating factors, from the people still hovering downstairs, from whatever was looming beyond the walls of the Keep.  They could, at least for a little while, hide from all of that up here.  He'd drink to that. 

If he thought for a second that this cup would go down easier than the last, though (perhaps because he'd steeled himself to it after having downed Marcel's liquor, or perhaps because Harlow Carwick probably knew how to spot quality in his drinks), he was sorely mistaken.  The liquor, despite having a more pleasant taste to it, once again burned all the way down his throat, causing him to grit his teeth, blink heavily, and let out a hoarse cough.  That was immediately followed a rueful grin and a shake of his head, as he became fully aware of just how ridiculous his reaction must've looked to Olive: Erwin Therrien, defeated by a lowly cup of spirits.  There was still a drop of amber at the bottom of his glass and, after taking a breath to compose himself, Erwin lifted it again to finish off the remainder of the liquor.  With that done, he gently set the cup down next to the half-full bottle, idly thinking that maybe – maybe – he would pour another one later.  His eyes turned to his torso and he spent another moment wiping off spots of remnant oil with his hands and then wiping his hands on his trousers.  Then, wordlessly, he took a step toward Olive, his hands coming up to the sides of her face as he leaned down to kiss her again.

Olive's lackluster complaint about the oily mess on her was met with just a shrug and a matter-of-fact look from Erwin, even as he watched her with amusement and an air of thorough satisfaction as she tried to rid herself of the stuff.  An appropriate comeuppance for her having resorted to such low tactics in the first place.  Though, as she feigned a quick movement towards the shelf of jars, a corner of his eye twitched in apprehension of being doused again with another face full of talcum powder.  Thankfully, she didn't actually retaliate against his little stunt.  Instead, as Olive started to work at the buttons of his soaked shirt, he lifted his arms up his sides to make the task easier.  This wasn't the first time a woman had removed his shirt in a dark room, and as if out of reflexive habit, his mind idly wandered to the logistics of how they would comfortably have sex in this cramped little storeroom full of clay jars and rickety shelves, the thought only interrupted by his own grimace mirroring hers as she finally peeled the foul shirt off his torso. 

As she tossed aside his garment and beckoned for him to follow though, he caught himself pausing for just the briefest of moments after she rounded the corner of the doorway.  Despite still riding the high of their little escapade, and despite having for the time being distanced himself as much as he could from the wedding that had just occurred, the little niggling in the back of his mind again reminded him that this was no casual encounter, but that she was his wife now.  Frowning to himself, he spent that moment ridding himself of that thought, instead focusing on the fun they were having, and also on roughly mussing his own hair to get some of the powder out. 

Finally, he too exited the storeroom and followed Olive down the passageway, back through the shard-strewn puddle of oil, to her little hideaway nook.  The first thought that ran through his mind was that she'd, amazingly, been telling the truth earlier: it actually looked cozy.  He met her gaze with a small, almost impressed nod.  "You were right, it's a good little hideout," he replied, "and hiding up here is the best idea I've heard all day."  Not counting the crazy idea to climb up a dusty, insufficiently wide shaft.

As Olive wandered over to the wall, Erwin crouched down to inspect the assorted collection of belongings tucked away into the nook.  He slowly leafed through the piles of many many books, silently reading off their titles one by one in his mind, pondering the sheer variety of topics, as if the collector couldn't decide what she wanted to read.  "Interesting selection here," he mumbled half to her, half to himself, "though some of these don't look like they're from downstairs."  He shuffled through the papers and sketches next, before finally picking up the spear, inspecting its still somewhat sharp edge.  Of all the things here, this one certainly looked the most out of place and he turned back to look at Olive with a raised brow and an expression that asked "Really?" 

His eyes next drifted down to the bottle perched in her hand , and now this time both eyebrows went up.  "I suppose I did propose a drink," he acknowledged with faux defeat.  Ten years without a drink, and now he was about to have a second in the same night.  And maybe more. 

Well, it was a special occasion.

The uneasiness that had defined their relationship these last weeks seemed almost a distant memory in that second, the way that Erwin's arms now wrapped around her figure and pulled her into the kiss.  Of course, there was little doubt that it was only possible because here in the darkness of the attic, the realities of their situation, of their marriage, could be pushed to the back of their minds.  Indeed, a part of him was grateful of the fact that she'd initiated this contact, which made it much easier for him to reciprocate in the heat of this ephemeral moment.  Still, he fought to push all of those extraneous thoughts out of his mind to focus on the here and now.  And the here and now was good.

Once Olive had broken their long kiss, Erwin peered down at her once more, keenly aware that the pace of his exhales had quickened, even though that likely was in part due to the unhealthy amounts of talcum powder he'd inhaled just moments earlier, and the ragged coughing that had caused.  He also could clearly discern the quickened heartbeat in his chest responding naturally to the intimacy of the moment, to the warmth of her body against his, her arms wrapped around his neck.  It was a familiar but good feeling – though, with their bodies pressed up against each other, he also started to become acutely aware of just uncomfortable the oil-and-powder combination felt against his skin, having soaked through his shirt at this point. 

"The oil was bad enough," he complained superficially, eyes drifting up to the light dusting of talcum powder that had shaken off the top of his head and landed on the crown of Olive's hair.  "But the talcum was completely uncalled for.  I'll be finding it in my hair for days."  Her face was still hovering near his and, spontaneously, he leaned down to kiss her again, but this one much briefer in length before he lifted his head again and grimaced in acknowledgement of just how gross he felt. 

"Ghoul sounds about right.  This stuff is disgusting.  This is your fault, you know." As if to prove a point, he lingered for a long moment with his arms still tightly wrapped around Olive, letting her wallow in the disgusting paste that was starting to transfer from him and onto her, letting her get a taste of the ordeal he just went through.  But finally, he loosened up enough to allow just a sliver of space between them so he could peer down at himself, letting his hands drop down around the back of her waist.  "Bloody hell, I'd rather just sleep up here than let anyone see me like this."

The nebula of fine white dust started to settle around Erwin, or at least as far as he could sense in his disoriented state, coughing and sputtering as he tried to wave it away from his shut eyes.  Stumbling back a step, the cold stone wall he mercifully bumped up against was a godsend.  All around him he could hear the echo of Olive's unbridled laughter filling up the room.  Of course she was enjoying all of this!  As she offered him her absurd suggestion, he tried blinking his eyes a few times but found that he could barely open them beyond a squint without the talcum cloud still tickling at his face.  "A ghost," he repeated, but as soon as he opened his mouth to come up with some sort of half-hearted retort, the coughing and sneezing started up again. 

It was only once he felt her hand clasp gently against his arm to steady him that he finally felt the itching in his nose subside.  He blinked his eyes open slightly and was greeted by her blurry silhouette in front of him.  As Olive wiped away the dust from his face, he glanced down at his dusty self and then back up to her, the expression on his face silently asking her something in between "how ridiculous do I look?" and "did you actually just throw that at me?"

And then, unexpectedly, she kissed him.  Erwin's back stiffened slightly at the touch but, as if through sheer instinct in the situation, he also found himself leaning into it.  The doubts and hesitance they'd shared, all of the drama, started creeping ever so slowly back into his mind, but his own voice rang in his ear, telling him 'Stop. Thinking.'  After the entire day – weeks, even – that they'd been through, this little adventure leading to a dark storeroom of the castle's attic, was pure escape.  Even if did not admit it out loud, he was having fun.  And if she too, well then now was not the time to ruin ... whatever this moment was.

He briefly broke Olive's kiss and pulled back to regard her face in the semi-darkness.  Then, impulsively, his hand snaked around her waist and pulled her against him, ignoring the fact that he was absolutely covered in oil and dust.  His left hand came up to briefly caress her face before he roughly pressed his mouth against hers in another kiss.

To be truthful, Erwin had mostly expected his half-hearted challenge to be laughed off, and for the two of them to move on to figuring out how they would exit the attic unseen.  But evidently Olive was willing to meet his posturing and unwilling to back down.  The crash of clay against stone echoed throughout the cramped space and caused him to flinch slightly from the unexpectedness of it.  Instinctively, he climbed up to his feet now even as his eyes drifted down to the oil splattering all over the floor.

And when he looked up a split second later, all he caught was the fleeting glimpse of Olive's bare back as it disappeared around the dark corner.  Even though the only sounds echoing through the attic now were the faint sounds of her footsteps, he could have sworn he heard her laughing the entire way - or maybe it was just in his head. 

Under normal circumstances, he might have just leapt over the puddle, but these were not normal circumstances and he was already covered in the stuff.  So instead, with a slight smirk, he gingerly stepped through the spreading oil, taking care not to slip even as he moved pieces of shattered clay out of the way with his foot.  These passageways were not familiar to him, but he turned the corner into the same room that he swore she ducked into...

And immediately was met with a cloud of talcum powder exploding directly in his face, sending him stumbling and into a coughing fit as it got into his nose, mouth, and eyes.

At the suggestion, Erwin's face screwed up with repugnance.  Not at the thought of his 'husbandly duties' as Olive put it – at least not this time.  He'd already told her he didn't need to be rid of her tonight.  No, this time it was the thought of those poor soldiers on the field who'd had to ingest castor oil for ailments of the gut.  "Sure, and I'll be relieving myself the entire night alone in the privy," he said with wrinkled nose, shaking his head.  "I'd rather take another drink of Marcel's vile whiskey than come near that."

Although he was sitting up, Erwin could feel the oil now starting to pool underneath him.  With a grunt, he adjusted his body until he was bent down on one knee.  He was almost ready to carefully climb to his feet when the unmistakable sound of a challenge emerged from Olive's mouth.  He turned his eyes to her and glanced her up and down.  It was true, she was certainly drier than him.  In a pinch, she'd have a much easier time maneuvering around than the slicked-up Duke.  And she knew the nooks and crannies up here.  Frankly, he couldn't recall if he'd ever even been to this part of the castle.

He'd not come this far to be backing down now, though.  Not that he would have engaged in this sort of chicanery and followed her up that tunnel on a normal night.  But this was a unique night, for more than one reason.  Straightening his back in a faux display of superiority, he pointed a finger at the bottle in her hand and gestured as if prepared for a fight.  "Come show me how fast you are, then, and we'll see how dry you remain."

Seeing the bottle of oil in her hand, Erwin sat up fully, his back stiffening.  A globule of the stuff had dripped down his hair and into his ear, and he tilted his head to try and wipe it away with a finger.  Every moment he sat there, he could feel it sticking more and more to his skin, and the sensation was not pleasant.  The very thought of even more oil being dumped on his head raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Still, he couldn't back down from her challenge, not now.  Straightening his posture, he gazed directly at her at first, then down to the clay bottle in his grip, then back up to her eyes. "My first one in ten years, and I don't intend on making it a habit," he responded with as cool a voice as he could muster, even as he fought to keep a smirk from crossing his face.  "But it's a celebration down there, and the occasion called for it, so it's for one night only."  Never mind that she absolutely was correct about the reason – that Erwin had been thoroughly intimidated by the prospect of the two of them reluctantly - begrudgingly - bedding each other.  In hindsight, dulling his senses with alcohol probably wouldn't have solved any of those problems, and would only bring back memories of why he'd quit in the first place.

But this though... this distraction.  He could handle this.  Even if he'd need the world's longest bath to get every ounce of oil clinging to his frame.  "I was going to say that the night isn't over yet, and maybe we can settle this peacefully with a drink, the only night you'll see me having one," His eyes glanced back down to the container, and this time he could not prevent the grin from surfacing.  "Or you can make a move," he added in as threatening a voice as he could find, "and I promise you neither of us will be walking back down, because we'll both be slipping and sliding."

As Erwin lay on the stone floor, measuring his breaths as he blinked away the dust and soot from his eyes, the sound of muffled laughter caused him to turn his head and regard Olive.  She was also sprawled on the cold floor, and despite her best efforts, her shoulders were trembling with every guffaw that she failed to contain with that hand clasped over her mouth.  The sound of her laughter – genuine laughter – brought about an odd sense of lightness in his head, and he realized that despite the whole passageway debacle, he wasn't even mad.  He pressed his mouth together in another glower at her, but this one could not truly hide his own good spirits.

Instead, he just lay there, soaking in her laughter as much as his shirt had soaked in all of that cold, slick oil.  And it was everywhere.  In his hair, against his neck, some even having trickled down his trousers.  After a second, he became acutely aware of just how uncomfortable the oil felt against his skin.  With a slight wince, he gingerly sat up so as not to spread the mess further.  Too late though, a pool of it had already formed underneath him, leaving a large, man-shaped stain against the stones where the oil and combined with soot to form a disgusting slurry.

"Maybe I should just march back downstairs and let them all get a good look at me, I'm sure they'd all be delighted," he replied to her, running a hand through his hair with a huge grimace.  When he removed his fingers, they were completely slick with castor oil.  "'There's the Duke of Wulfbauer, one drink and he's lost his mind.'  Bloody hell, at least it doesn't smell too bad."

Turning his gaze back to Olive's laughing form, he reached out with an expression that seemed to say 'this is your fault' before smearing the greasy hand on her.

If she'd been just a hair taller, perhaps she might have been able to angle herself down enough to dislodge him from the passageway.  As it were though, despite her tugging on his hand, his shoulders weren't budging much.  You knew this would happen, he admonished himself in the back of his mind.  This is why he always shot down her and Marcel's wild ideas – because they inevitably resulted in these situations. 

When she actually mentioned his brothers though, he looked up at her with what might have been slight alarm.  Sure, there was a singsong quality to the way she said it, and more than a hint of amusement behind those eyes.  But the very thought of his brothers finding him like this sent a cold wave of panic coursing through his body.  "Oh bloody hell, they cannot see me in here.  Especially not Marcel.  I'll never live it down."  He was almost glad at that moment when Olive disappeared back into the attic, though, perhaps energized by the terrifying thought of others being called in to assist, he continued to grunt and twist, trying to dislodge his shoulders from the passageway.  His squirming seemed to help the cause somewhat, but each time he felt as though he budged an inch, his own weight caused him to slip down again and back against the walls of the tunnel. 

When Olive finally re-emerged with the castor oil, a deep grimace crossed his features.  He was quite familiar with the substance, of course.  And of its particular... side effects when ingested, something that had been used out in the field on more than one occasion.  Cursing under his breath, he squeezed his eyes and mouth shut as Olive poured the oil all around him.  He felt it drip and leak down the back of his collar and against his body, soaking through his shirt with a slimy, disgusting sensation.  But they had to do what they had to do.  Feeling her hand close around his again, he pushed his legs against the walls of the shaft as much as he could, feeling the stone dig into his knees. 

But it worked.   Between the two of them, he felt his body finally come loose from the tight, narrow shaft.  The oil had slicked the tunnel walls though, and he could already feel whatever leverage he was able to generate with his legs starting to slip.  Luckily, the lip of the exit was close enough that, with her final full, Erwin's fingertips finally found the ledge.  With a loud grunt he hauled himself out of the tunnel, nearly tumbling on top of Olive before finally rolling onto his back with a low thud.  He lay there, breathing in deep breaths, the grimace still plastered on his face as he felt the oil clinging to his neck and back.

And then a low laugh escaped his lips again.  "What the fuck was I thinking?"

Just from looking into the passageway, Erwin had surmised that the journey upwards, as easily as it might have been, would prove to be an arduous task.  And the moment he wedged himself into the dank shaft and started shimmying upwards, he was proven right.  Even with most of his clothing discarded, his broad shoulders still barely fit in the tunnel, and only if he angled himself diagonally.  And with so little room to maneuver, he could hardly use his strength to his advantage. Instead, following Olive's example, he wedged his knees against one side of the shaft, though he had to rely on just his palms to push upwards as he could not extend his elbows far out enough for leverage.

The slow, arduous climb upwards was compounded almost as much by the dirt and grime falling on him as Constance led the way upwards as it was by the constant, jolting slips that he faced.  He had to squint his eyes in the darkness and shake his head to clear the dust from his face, and even that was not enough to prevent him from coughing on more than one occasion.  When her teasing voice drifted down from above, he responded in a hoarse, breathless voice, "That's because Marcel isn't here.  I was never telling you off.  It was always my idiot of a dear little brother."  Of course that was a lie, half-hearted as it was.  After all, inevitably, it was almost always her idea.  "Though now I'm beginning to second guess my decision."

From above him the black passageway suddenly opened up to a little bit more light as Olive found and took the exit.  She'd scaled the tunnel faster than he'd thought; he was still some ways from it, and the exertion from squeezing through the tunnel, along with the swallowed breaths every time his grip slipped and he slid a few inches downward, was starting to wear on him.  With a grimace, he let out a low stubborn grunt, climbing and climbing and climbing.  By the time she popped her head back into the tunnel to check on him, he could see that he was only a few precious feet away from the opening.  Steadying his breath, he shifted his weight just enough so that he could reach his hand up, but in that movement he felt the pressure of the tunnel walls against his shoulders as his body rotated too much.

He gave his torso a few jerks before peering up at Olive with an expression that was half embarrassment and half amused incredulity.  "Okay, I might actually be stuck.  Give me a pull."

"You know, normally I would say this is a stupid idea," he quipped offhandedly, his nose wrinkling again.  The same thing he'd once said to her when she ran off with Marcel and a stolen hand cannon to take pot shots at the chapel gargoyle.  Or when the two youths had decided to sneak out the West Gate to go climbing among the tall, moss-covered (and, as young Erwin might argue, very dangerous!) sandstone pinnacles.  Or a half-dozen other occurrences that he could not recall anymore.  "But I'm too involved in it to back out now."  If nothing else, it was a welcome distraction from the realities of their shared life now.  Plus, what other strange occurrences could happen on this already surreal day? 

From his viewpoint, Olive looked equally secure and precarious, wedged inside the narrow passageway through her back and knees, but still dangling over what appeared to be a drop into darkness.  It wasn't clear just how far the shaft descended, nor could he tell how long of a climb it would be to the attic.  A slight frown crossed his features in contemplation, though a part of him felt assured in the fact that he was more likely to slide to a halt than plummet down to the kitchens if he lost his grip. 

The real question was whether he might actually get stuck.  With the many layers of his fancy wedding attire still on?  That was almost a certainty.  Reaching up, he tugged at the neck of his thick, blue-grey doublet with one hand while using the other to unfasten each of the silver buttons holding the garment tight across his chest.  The garment came loose and was discarded to the cold stone floor of the antechamber, to be picked up and washed in the morning by whoever entered the Duke's quarters first.  The soft silver-threaded overshirt came off next and was added to the pile of abandoned clothes, leaving Erwin in just a simple white, long-sleeved linen shirt, thin enough to offer much greater mobility – and hopefully space enough to climb up through the narrow shaft after her.

He ducked his head down to the opening but paused for a moment, gazing up at Constance who was already inside.  He gave her a knowing look, which only half hid away his amusement.  "I'm sure my wife will have a good answer for them – and for why she was wandering around the attic alone, covered in grime."  It still sounded strange, but maybe he just had to say it more.

And then with a measured breath that begged the question 'why are we doing this?,'  he squeezed into the passageway after her.

If Erwin's laughter had offered a pleasant surprise to Olive, it was now his turn to take notice of the way his wife beamed at the mention of the passageway.  Whatever tentativeness still forming a wall between the two of them seemed to evaporate away when she gleefully led him by hand over to the grate.  Erwin wrinkled his nose at the cloud of dust emerging from the shaft's entrance, lifting a hand to swat it away from his squinting eyes.  Still, he crouched low behind her, head cocked as he tried to see into the darkness past her.

When Olive finally emerged from the passageway, both her white slip and her honey-colored hair already flecked with soot, he could not help but take notice of the expression plastered all over her features.  It was a pure, unadulterated exuberance that he'd not seen from her in many years, and certainly not since she'd returned to Wulfbauer Keep.  Back when the world was such a different place.  When he was no more than the son of a minor noble trying to cross the bridge between squire and knight, and she the rambunctious daughter of a Duke who sought out trouble, often with his younger brother in tow.  It'd felt as if the two of them had secretly concocted as many plans as possible to frustrate their older chaperone.  Gods, he'd been so dour back then too, so uninterested in what schemes the two had cooked up... he'd never taken the time to properly recognize that they were all just youths.  Young, reckless, and happy.

Seeing her excitement triggered something within him that he couldn't quite identify.  Maybe it felt good to see her happy, and he unconsciously didn't want that to end.  Maybe, for the hundredth time, it was just late.  But whatever it was, and for whatever reason that he'd been disinterested in her adventures back then, he was, somehow, interested now.  Erwin's eyebrow raised slightly, and a small smirk spread over his face.  "So, it goes up to the attic and down to the kitchen?  This I have to see." 

He maneuvered past Olive and poked his head into the darkness, the swirling dust and soot getting into his nose eliciting a cough from him.  Just reaching his hand inside he could tell that the walls were narrow, almost uninviting.  Perhaps a child or someone like her with a slight frame could fit, but it seemed more dubious for his broader shoulders.  "So you climbed all the way up this thing, and you never fell, or got stuck?" his voice echoed from inside the passageway, sounding incredulous.

Still riding high on the unexpectedly light mood, a disarming smile crept onto Erwin's face at her half-hearted complaint about her hair, but it faded somewhat at the implication of her unfinished thought.  He could already imagine the instructions that Grace had given to Olive before he'd arrived back at these chambers.  She likely had given Olive the same talk on previous occasions too.  Erwin couldn't say that he knew the lady-in-waiting in any real capacity, but just based on his few interactions with Grace, he briefly wondered if Constance would have said yes at all if not for her likely-stern advisements.

He did not shy away or tense up when she reached up to fix his hair, but instead gazed down at her with a sincere expression.  Her touch felt oddly comforting, almost as though he could find a certain solace in her presence that was otherwise inaccessible to him outside of this moment, when he otherwise had to wear the facade of a strong, confident Duke for everyone else to see.  Truthfully, though, he still didn't know exactly what he wanted just then – or even if he was hesitating for his own sake or on her behalf.  Instead, following her gaze over to the grate, Erwin tried to imagine what the secret tunnel might have looked like, and how Olive might have used them in happier times to traverse the keep, or just as a reprieve from the tedium of life as the daughter of a Duke.  It'd never even occurred to him to look behind it.  "I learn something new every day," he said offhandedly.  "Good to know in case we ever need a quick escape."

At Olive's offer to essentially leave him be, he turned his gaze back toward her.  The thought of Constance climbing through some dusty, cobwebbed passageway to spend the night alone in the cold attic seemed completely outrageous – even if, behind that twinkle in her eyes, she might not have hated the option.  Though her tone had been light and joking, in his experience at least, it did seem like she often used humor to deflect from her unspoken thoughts.  She HAD said it as though it was a favor to him though.  No, he decided in that moment, you don't need her to 'leave you in peace.'  You don't need an escape from her.  He'd made a commitment, and he would do his best to make it work.  "I think I'd prefer that you stay," he said quietly but resolutely after a moment's silence.  Reaching down, he took her hand into his own.  "We can just get a good evening's rest here.  It doesn't have to be any more than that tonight."  These were her quarters too now, after all.

A wry look crossed his features.  "But since you mentioned it, now I'm curious about this passageway."  Were they... getting better at small talk?

Maybe it was the sound of her laughter, or that small smile that crept onto her face when they locked eyes in the mirror.  Maybe it was the warmth that was starting to flush in his cheeks from that whiskey he'd downed.  Maybe it was just late.

Or perhaps it was the way that she'd gently chided him, and called him out on exactly what it was doing.

Whatever the reason, the exhaustion and restlessness that had dogged him all throughout the day and into the evening suddenly seemed to wash away just then.  In that moment, he felt a tickling sensation in his gut that ascended into his chest and, despite his best efforts, he could not contain the low laughter that now escaped from his mouth.  Somehow, despite the shadows dancing around in the corners, the candlelit dressing room seemed to glow just a bit brighter, and the levity pervading the room seemed so appropriate.  And across Erwin's face spread the fullest, most genuine smile that he'd displayed all day – and perhaps the most genuine smile he'd ever allowed in front of Olive.

With an embarrassed shake of his head, he averted his eyes from Olive's reflection and turned his attention back to the task at hand, still trying to force down the laughter.  The Duke's shoulders, though, visibly relaxed from all of the tension they'd been carrying the whole day.  For the briefest of seconds, they were not husband and wife, or Duke and Duchess, but just two people.  "It's been a long day," he responded lamely, offering just a shrug.  "With all the people we had to entertain, I ran out of things to say."

There was only one more pin remaining in Constance's hair that he could see and, when he removed it, her braided hair unraveled and fell down across her shoulders.  He dropped the final pin into the pile and inspected his work for a second before looking back to her reflection in the mirror, hands dropping from her hair to her shoulders.  "There, I think I got all of them.  I hope.  Maybe you'll want to check yourself." 

He'd known that the formal ceremony before the Church of Angsar would only be the beginning of a day full of tedious formalities, and had steeled himself to the task at hand.  The endless niceties and thanks for each and every noble well-wisher that had attended was taxing but bearable.  But as the day dragged on, and the bride and groom embarked on the painfully slow ride through the town, shaking hands and waving at every turn of every boulevard, even the Duke could feel the energy sapping away from his body.  By the time the wedding procession snaked its way back to the keep, the summer sun already starting to set in the horizon, his face was sore from all the forced smiling.

The wedding feast, set up in the same Great Hall where they'd spoken their vows, proved no less draining.  As befitting a Duke's wedding, the newlyweds' raised table had been laden with all manner of traditional Wulfbauer delicacies, and the wine and beer flowed freely throughout the hall.  Erwin had little time to eat though, as guest after guest approached to make conversation and heap even more congratulations on the two.  He had not an ounce of patience left in his body by the end of the evening, and every word of thanks he forced out of his mouth took more willpower than the last.  The revelers, however, were still going strong, and likely would continue to do so even after the Duke and Duchess had retired. 

He could tell that Constance's own patience had completely eroded away, too.  By the time Lady Rosengard came to whisk her away, he almost felt a mixed sense of relief and jealousy for her – if not for what was expected of them next.  He remained in the Great Hall after she'd gone, keenly aware of the furtive but expectant glances from those present.  Marcel had not-so-subtly left a full glass of Kristian's Serenian liquor at his table, and it sat there in front of his barely-touched plate taunting him, asking which of his two brothers would win their bet as to when Erwin would finally break his yearslong abstinence. 

After several long moments, Lord Burrows' nephew approached him – odd, that the elder Burrows himself was nowhere to be seen – and whispered in his ear that it was time for him to retire to his bedchambers after his wife.  He paused, steeling himself for what was to come, and then, with a long exhale, snatched up the amber liquid, pushed his chair back, and stood.  An audible gasp rose from the crowd as Erwin raised the drink to them and then, in one go, downed the entire contents of the glass.  It burned all the way down his throat and sent stars flashing across his vision, so much so that he could barely see the room erupt into shrieks and applause, the loudest of which came from the Therrien table.  Consciously remembering why he'd stopped drinking, Erwin grimaced and offered the attendees one last smile and nod of his head before turning toward the exit of the Great Hall, the cheers fading softer and softer behind him.

The smile faded from Erwin's face as soon as he stepped out of the Great Hall.  The journey upstairs to the Duke's chambers afforded him plenty of time to think.  Even though he'd had weeks to prepare, it still seemed surreal that he was now a married man, to Constance Carwick of all people.  No, Constance Therrien, he had to remind himself.  They were bound to each other now.  But even saying it in his mind, the name had an odd ring to it.  And as he drew closer to the heavy door of his quarters, his thoughts turned to the fact that, as far as he knew, of all the women he'd bedded, none had done so reluctantly or with a sense of resignation.  It just didn't feel right, and the very idea sent a sudden wave of consternation washing throughout his being.  Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

As he entered, he heard a muffled curse coming from the antechamber.  Shutting the door behind him, he rounded the corner just in time to see the flash of anger cross Olive's reflection, at least until she realized it was him and not Grace.  Oh, it's you.  The words, tinged with defeat, almost stung him, but he shook it off and nodded at her request.  Standing behind her, his eyes drifted down to the web of uneven scarring left visible from her slip, and for a second he became lost in them and the tragic history they represented.  Realizing that he was looking for a little too long though, he quickly turned his focus back to her intricately braided and woven hair.  "Hells," he breathed, reaching to gingerly remove the first visible pin.  "How did Grace not stab you to death with all of these?"

After that initial comment, he silently worked to pluck pins out of her hair one-by-one, letting them clatter into the haphazard but growing pile beside the mirror, pausing at one point only to remove his annoying cloak and discarding it to the wayside.  Eventually though, he glanced up at her eyes reflecting out of the mirror and gave her a look of feigned annoyance.  "I don't know about you, but I thought they were supposed to actually feed us on our wedding day.  I could barely get a bite in." 

Like Olive, Erwin felt equally conscious of the eyes that fell on him as he strode through the waiting crowd to meet her in the center of the Great Hall.  Their entrance had brought the chattering to an expectant hush, with only small whispers amidst the measured boot steps of the Duke and his small entourage.  The warmth of the late summer day had filtered into the hall along with an abundance of sunlight, which only seemed to enhance the general celebratory atmosphere among the lords and ladies attending such a joyous occasion. 

For Erwin though, all he could concentrate on during the walk was how stiflingly hot his outfit felt.  Befitting of the occasion, he was clothed in soft Wulfbauer greys woven with intricate lines of gold, and an elegant doublet with a high collar that felt unnecessarily tight and dug into his neck.  Tradition dictated that he also be adorned with a cloak in the deep green colors of the House of Therrien, clasped at one shoulder.  He looked like a Duke, but all in all it was too much fabric for such a warm day, the rays of sun beating down through the windows in a blanket heavier than the weight of expectation.

The sight of Olive in her wedding finery temporarily drew him back to the present, and her fugitive smile through that lace veil provided him a brief moment of respite from the gravity of the entire ceremony.  He could not help but offer her a shared, modest smile of his own, as if they were privy to a joke that had been told to no one else.  And truly this all suddenly seemed like a joke now, an elaborate performance just to placate the enchanted crowd and the Church of Ansgar presiding over the whole affair.  They'd both vocalized their trepidation about this wedding, and about what it meant for their futures - yet, somehow, here they stood, having both still agreed to come this far, having ended up here in the center of the Great Hall facing each other and their shared destiny.

His eyes remained on hers as she likewise gazed upon him, the priest's words of piety to Ansgar and to the sacred bonds of marriage under his loving watch only registering in his ears in blips.  Her eyes glimmered with what seemed like both resolve and resignation, and it brought doubt creeping back into Erwin's mind.  As he mumbled along with the priest's liturgy, repeating the oaths of devotion and protection, every echo of 'Ansgar' from the priest flashed images of those mage refugees in his mind again, to their expressions of fear that still haunted him now.  Uncomfortably, he shuffled his feet slightly and kept his eyes locked on Olive, reminding himself that he'd resolved to help her help them in whatever way possible - a promise he intended to keep.

And by his grace, now may your love pierce the veil of darkness, and may you find your way to Ansgar's light together.

They were the words spoken at Connlaoth weddings since time immemorial, the final declarations from the Church that Ansgar himself would bless two individuals with a long, healthy bond together.  And yet, Erwin understood their underlying roots - about how Ansgar had 'pierced the veil' cast by the unholy shadow of magic.  The irony of the priest's words were staggering, and he had to fight to keep a grimace from spreading across his face.  But those words were also his cue to complete the ritual.  So as the priest and the quiet crowd gazed at him expectantly, he took a steadying breath and reached out to gently lift the veil up from Constance's face.  Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss against her lips, lingering there for just a moment before pulling back.  All Erwin could do was offer Olive another small, almost rueful smile, his eyes silently professing an apology, but also a look of eternal thanks for what she'd offered and sacrificed for him through all of this. 

And with that, it was done. 

As the Great Hall descended into applause and cheers, Lord Burrows slid forward from behind Erwin and gently patted him on the shoulder, passing something into the Duke's hand.  He reached out to take Olive's hand and gingerly slid a jeweled, silver ring onto her finger.  "The ring of the Duchess of Wulfbauer," he said quietly, though she needed no explanation from him.  It was her mother's ring.  A matching ring already adorned Erwin's hand - the signet of the Duke, previously worn by both their fathers.

Marcel might have looked uncomfortably to his Kristian then, but the piercing stare that Erwin shot him at his unscrupulous comment could have punctured the walls of the castle.  This man was supposed to be his beloved brother.  Yet, the comment immediately triggered a feeling of defensiveness in him, and he felt the heartbeat in his chest quicken slightly with pangs of anger.  Unconsciously, the fingers of his left hand balled up into a fist.

He didn't presume to know the true plight of the mages, and he certainly was still working to process everything he'd learned from Olive about her experiences.  But he'd learned enough over the last weeks and months to take offense to Kristian's naïve words – words that he might have uttered himself, once upon a time, before Constance Carwick has arrived at the keep. 

But she was his friend.  No, his soon-to-be wife.  And his smooth-brained brother didn't know what he was talking about.

Luckily the moment passed quickly enough, without Kristian having noticed the iciness that has glazed over Erwin's eyes.  And, thankfully, the youngest Therrien saved the day with a voice that oozed with cheeriness – exactly what this day was supposed to entail.  The hints of disdain faded away from Kristian's face, and he replaced them with the same wide smile that he'd had earlier.  "Yes, our dearest brother finally comes to his senses today," he said, giving Erwin a hard clap on the back.  "If at any point you decide that it is all too much, I will come fetch this bottle with great haste."

The small party left the Duke's quarters then, weaving their way through the corridors toward the Great Hall, where the formal ceremony was set to take place.  Even though it was midday and the sun shone clearly through every window, the sconces along the walls of the castle were still lit and blazing, as if illuminating the path of righteousness for Erwin.  He spent the entire walk in silent contemplation though, trying to mentally prepare himself to the inevitability that lay ahead.  He'd made this commitment, spent countless evenings convincing himself that this was the most appropriate course of action, both for his sake and for the sake of the Duchy.  His thoughts drifted to Olive, who always seemed more unsure of this decision than even Erwin himself, but who'd agreed to it anyway with quiet resignation.  The spectre of doubt materialized again, haunting every bootstep against the cold stone underneath. 

Perhaps he should have had that drink after all.  But it was too late for that, and too late to walk back on his decision to get married.  Swallowing down the dryness in his mouth, he took a deep breath and steeled himself for what lay ahead.  He was ready.  He was ready.

The Great Hall's heavy wooden were guarded by a small contingent of vigilant sentries, although they remained open.  Beyond, Erwin could just make out a few of the pillars lining either side of the hall, immaculately wrapped with boughs of evergreen.  He could also hear the murmuring of conversation within, as the esteemed wedding guests awaited the arrival of the groom and bride.  How many had actually responded to the invitations that were sent out?  How many nobles had made appearances?  Lord Burrows must have said something about it, but he probably wasn't paying attention.

From behind him, Erwin heard the sound of Marcel adjusting the sword at his side, and felt his younger brother lean forward to whisper in his ear.  He couldn't see Marcel, but he could imagine the roguish grin on his younger brother's face, as their eyes locked onto the same thing.  "Here they come," Marcel said, right as the bridal party emerged from around the corner at the far end of the hall.