Erwin could hardly recognize the man staring back at him from within the mirror, a dashing, almost regal figure being attended to by a manservant diligently ensuring that every fold of his sleeves was in place.  The reflection was him, but it didn't feel like him.  Some doppelganger straight out of a children's book, here to take his place and accept the encumbrance of ruling this war-torn duchy.  A shade who would, in his place, intone the vows that would by Ansgar's guiding hand bind him to a life of faithful duty to his new bride. 

A slight frown crossed his features as he idly examined the face staring back at him.  They'd insisted and of course he'd acquiesced, but Erwin could not remember the last time a razorblade had glided so closely to his cleeks to produce such a close shave, leaving not even a shadow of stubble on his cheek.  His face looked smooth, refreshed... and unnatural.  Or at least it did to him.  Both his sisters had squealed in delight when they first laid eyes upon their eldest brother in all his trappings and finery.  Marietta had lifted herself up to wrap him in a long hug, proclaiming how royal he looked.  Adette, giddy with unrestrained excitement, had declared her conclusion that he and Constance made such a perfect couple, and that they would be so happy together.

He felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten.  For weeks, they'd been building up to this moment.  Ever since that night in the clearing, when she'd used her forbidden magic to save those refugee mages, Constance had visited him more often than at any other time since they'd first brought her to the castle from Valence.  They'd gotten to know each other more than he could have ever hoped, perhaps in an effort to blunt the inevitability of this moment.  Yet somehow all of it still didn't feel right.  He cared for Constance, he was certain of it.  But to marry her?

"Did you hear that last part, my Lord?" the voice of old Lord Burrows reverberated in his ear and pulled him back to the present.  Erwin turned to regard the Master of Coin and, spying the annoyed expression on his wrinkled features, hastily replied, "Yes, of course." His eyes drifted away unconsciously, and he missed the glance that Lord Burrows shot over to his young nephew as he shook his head in mild exasperation. 

Before the Master of Coin could muster another word though, the sound of laughter flooded into the room along with the two Therriens and their free-flowing bottle.  Their familiar voices had Erwin spinning to regard them, so fast that it caused the manservant to drop a pin and sign in exasperation.  His dear brothers, so impossibly lighthearted and carefree – even though one of them was the current Lord of their shared ancestral home, and the other a soon to be anointed knight. 

The mention of his dreaded military nickname elicited narrowed eyes from Erwin, but it was also accompanied by the first real smile he'd shown all morning.  "Judging from what's left in that bottle," he shot back at Marcel, "He won't need Captain Serious to catch him, his breath will attract all the attention he needs.  It'll be a grand sight: the esteemed Lord of Arbutus Vale falling over on his own brother's wedding day."  Yet, he still warmly embraced Kristian as the younger Therrien approached him.  Kristian was perhaps an inch shorter than Erwin, but looked remarkably similar to the Duke aside from the well-trimmed beard on his face, dotted with the same salt-and-pepper as his own hair.  This close to his sibling though, Erwin realized perhaps for the first time just how few lines blemished his brother's face.  They were five years removed from one another, but it might as well have been a decade.  For a moment, Erwin wondered how long it would be before the stresses of his brother's newfound position would replace that easygoing personality.

"Luckily for me," Kristian replied with an impossibly warm laugh, as though having read Erwin's mind, "Duke Therrien of Wulfbauer is a kind and just ruler, and he would never have me thrown into the cells for ruining his big moment."  The comment elicited a similar laugh from Marcel, and Erwin turned to regard him.  Somehow, Marcel had avoided whatever blood ran in their veins that caused the premature greying of hair.  Indeed, his hair, flowing down to his shoulders in neat waves, shone a light brown through and through. 

Looking down at the glass pressed into his hand, Erwin wrinkled his nose.  The prospect of actually going through with this wedding severely tempted him to have his first drink in ten years.  "You know I can't," he offered lamely, which elicited jeers from his brothers.

"Oh come on, my Lord Duke," Kristian said, lifting an arm so that the manservant could sneak between the two and continue his work.  "I have a wife and children, and all the trappings that come with ruling a House.  And here I am, as happy as can be.  You know why?  Because I drink.  Why do you think you've been so dour these last few years? Trust me, it'll help at the altar."

Erwin's brow narrowed, and he started to retort about the stresses of leading a duchy through a civil war, but Kristian cut him off with an absent wave of the hand.  "And if my wife-to-be was a better shot than a Therrien, then I'd most certainly drown myself in my cups," he said with a wicked grin.  He leaned forward and continued in a softer voice.  "Marcel told me the whole tale.  Is it true?  Did Lady Carwick actually shoot the eye out of that gargoyle, with a stolen gun?"

Erwin glanced back over to Marcel, who simply shrugged and took another swig of his whiskey.  "That was a long time ago," the Duke finally acknowledged.  He'd almost forgotten about the gargoyle.  So much had time had passed since then.  So much innocence lost.  She was no longer the rambunctious daughter of a Duke, and he was no longer a squire watching over the two youths with exasperation.

 "Lord Thurgood may be in his twilight years, but he looked hale the last time we were in each other's presence," the Chancellor replied with a soft smile, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk's surface.  "It would be a shame if his health has taken a turn for the worst."

He shrugged his shoulders lackadaisically. "But he has been under tremendous stress lately, I surmise.  That castle has become almost a mummer's comedy, and it must take all of Thurgood's energy to keep some semblance of order there." 

He pushed his chair back and stood now, taking several steps away from the seated youth, hands clasped behind his back.  "No matter, I wish him all the health in the world.  Regrettably, I will not be able to attend the wedding as I have other matters of state to attend to.  I trust that with your light touch, the wedding will be a grand affair." He gave Brendan a subtle, almost knowing look.  "And if anything unfortunate were ever to happen to my good friend, I would appreciate if you alerted me with great haste."

Brendan responded with his own smile and nod.  "Of course, my Lord."

Kenins turned now to regard nothing in particular.  He'd explicitly made clear that the current Duke had lost his faith and the faith of many in the council of nobles.  And he'd gathered all those dissatisfied noblemen under his banner.  But war was such a strong term.  "I just want to remind you, Brendan, that I am no warmonger.  No, that sort of activity is more of Duke Therrien's strong suit.  I am just a patriot and a loyal servant of the Duchy, and all I do is in service to Wulfbauer." 

Erwin watched Olive's form vanish out the door and into the dark hallway.  Warmth lingered on the spot on his cheek that her lips had touched, and after a few seconds he tilted his head down to look at the folded parchment clutched against his chest.  Slowly, he unfolded the sketch and gently smoothed it out on the surface of his desk.  A small charcoal smudge drifted off the edge of the old woman's face, and he spent a moment smoothing out the line with his thumb. 

Fear and hope.  A promise of things to come, for him and Constance both.

With a soft exhale, he went to throw another log into the fire before striding back over to the bed.  Whatever problems they had to fix with the Duchy, it could wait until the morning.

---

"Ah, a midnight proposition," Kenins answered, feigning his own casual smile and sitting up in his chair.  "I would have imagined that, after such a long journey, you'd have preferred a good night's rest before discussing business in the morning.  But that's besides the point.  I'll always have time for my good friend Thurgood's favorite nephew."

The mention of the elder Burrows caught the younger by surprise and, despite his best efforts, his smile faltered for the briefest of moments.  Brendan quickly wiped that uncertainty from his expression and leaned forward, meeting the Chancellor's gaze with an expression that, on its surface, displayed the confidence of a man who'd practiced the words in his head a hundred times during the ride here.  But the glimmer of intimidation was there in his eyes.

"Chancellor Kenins, my proposition does indeed involve my uncle," Brendan began, keeping his eye contact with his counterpart.  "He loves Wulfbauer, with every fabric of his being, I want to be clear about that.  He's been Master of Coin for thirty-four years.  Our house has served the interests of the duchy for much longer.  But I'm afraid that he has lost sight of what makes this duchy great, and what must be done to ensure its continued prosperity."

Kenins, for his part, said nothing but only listened attentively.  Even as Brendan spoke his first words, Roland could have already anticipated where this conversation was headed.  The younger Burrows had always been an idealist, more so than his pragmatic relative – even when both shared a common knack for numbers and finances.  Perhaps it was a product of age and experience that informed Thurgood's demeanor, but Brendan Burrows certainly acted with his gut more than a cunning man like Thurgood ever could do.  The young man's traits, ironically, almost mirrored their current Duke.

The Dukeship that should have been his. 

"I agreed with your words during that last council meeting," continued Brendan.  "Erwin Therrien is out of his element, and he has lost the confidence of the nobles.  I believe that this duchy cannot recover and grow until someone more capable and with more experience can take over and lead us in the right direction." He paused to clear his throat.  "And the new Duke will need a new council to help him realize his vision.  A new Master of Coin."

Lost in their conversation, Erwin had almost forgotten just how long ago the sun had set.  But when she finally released his hand and hastily climbed to her feet, the tiredness hovering over his body finally crashed down.  It'd certainly been a long day.  A long two days.

"Of course," he answered with a half-nod.  He pulled himself to his feet almost instinctively as Olive made her way for the door, the polite gesture having been ingrained into his mind since youth – yet another product of their shared nobility.  "Please know that you can come talk with me whenever you want." 

When Olive stopped in her tracks and turned her gaze to his wooden desk, he suddenly remembered what he'd spent the earlier part of his evening doing.  The memory of the old woman flooded into him again.  It was fuzzy at first, but slowly color and life inundated the thought until Erwin, once again, could see the image of the woman's face as though she was there in the room with them.  He knew then and there that it would be another restless sleep.  How long could this woman haunt his thoughts?

Slowly, he slowly stepped over to where Olive was lingering.  Together, they gazed down at the parchment, old woman and young boy etched in a rough pencil outline.  With a soft breath, he reached down and picked up the sketch.  "I... couldn't stop thinking about them," he explained after a moment's silence.  "And drawing sometimes helps me process my thoughts."

He stared intently down at the artwork.  The old lady stared back up at him with charcoal eyes, and somehow the sketch seemed more willing to forgiving than the actual woman had the previous night.  It was an idealized representation, but one needed ideals to strive towards. 
"Maybe it's a reminder of who I'm supposed to be serving," he said, half to himself.  Saying those words out loud seemed to almost invigorate him, and for the first in two nights, he felt more at peace at the thought of the elderly woman.  Perhaps in time, he might be able to do right by her.  By Constance, by Silas, by all of those mages.

Folding the parchment in two, Erwin pressed it towards Olive.  "Here, you take it.  For safekeeping," he said, before placing a hand on her shoulder and producing a small smile.  "Rest well.  I'll see you in the morning."

Erwin looked sidelong to Olive at her laugh.  Her comment elicited a small chuckle from him after a short pause and, for the briefest of moments, the levity seemed to lift the tension from the room.  "Perhaps it would be cordial.  I learned a lesson about hotheadedness last night, after all."

At her mention of his father, he turned his gaze back toward the soft glow of the hearth's last embers, refusing to die out.  It made him wonder about Marsden's last moments, whether the elder Therrien had also fought with every breath to cling to the last vestiges of life, refusing to let the cold of death overtake him before he could complete his duties as the Duke.  Marsden was not a young man when he died, but neither was he old and infirm.  He should have had more time, Erwin thought.  More time to see to the duchy's well-being, while his eldest son learned what it meant to govern.

"When they first told me of his death, I thought it was a joke," he said quietly, almost to himself.  "Even when they brought me his sword, the family blade of the Therriens, I didn't want to believe it.  That sword was always destined to come to me, but not so soon."  Erwin pointed to the ornate greatsword set upon a pedestal along the opposite wall.  The symbol of the House of Therrien,red and orange reflections from the hearth dancing along its gleaming blade.  Even now, it felt like it still belonged to his father.

He let out a soft sigh.  "If the other lords thought of me in that room at all, I'm sure they imagined that it would've be many years before I assumed this Dukeship.  It is what it is.  Now I'm just trying to live up to their expectations, to my father's ideals."

He glanced to Olive then, frowning slightly at the comparison to Duke Harlow.  The former Duke was, by all accounts, a capable leader and a stoic defender of Wulfbauer  A man with many qualities.  But it was those some of those same traits that had led him to send her only daughter to suffer and perhaps die in the mage camps, in a bid to ensure Wulfbauer's future.   That daughter who now sat next to Erwin.  He didn't even want to think about being put in that same situation.  If protecting the duchy required him to sacrifice his family, sacrifice Constance... well, he didn't think he could do such a thing.

Instead, he ventured, "I want to protect my men, protect the people of Wulfbauer, as best as I can.  And maybe this is the best position for me to accomplish that, as much as I dread it."  He looked to her again.  "Silas is right, you know.  You can do so much for the mages from in this castle."

Erwin opened his mouth as if starting to respond but had to pause when words failed to emerge, brow furrowing slightly upon hearing her question and then repeating it in the back of his mind. In that moment, he realized he'd never really given the thought any serious consideration.  Or at least not since the moment he had been recalled from the field when his father had been elected as the new Duke.  Looking around the room now, though – the warmth of the hearth, the woven tapestry hanging on the wall near decorative racks of swords and guns, even the soft bedsheets on which they sat – it all did suddenly seem excessive.  Too grand. 

"I never really considered it that way, I guess," he ventured.  "I do often think of my men still out there in the field, wondering what battles they are fighting, how they are faring.  And I do often wish that I was back out there with them instead of here."    He glanced at her quickly with an embarrassed expression and pressed his mouth together, hastily adding, "not fighting Calent's war anymore, I mean.  Just... out there with them."

He felt something in that moment.  Was that the guilt that Olive had described?

Realizing that he was starting to grind his back teeth together, Erwin let out a low cough.  He turned towards Olive, an uncertain look on his face as he contemplated finally say what he was about to say out loud.  What he might have hinted to her before, but wouldn't dare acknowledge to any other person in this castle.  If they were to be truthful with each other though...

He took a deep breath.  "I wish I was back out there with my men because I understood them.  Your nobility, your house and titles, those only meant something out there if you forced it to mean something.  But if you didn't do that, then you could choose to share the same life as the soldiers next to you.  In the heat of battle, to not care if the next man was the son of a nobleman, or the son of a cobbler – as long as you looked out for each other.  I understood that life."

He frowned as his eyes wandered around the room, before licking at his dry lips and turning back to her.  "This I don't understand.  The Dukeship, the politics, the governing, these responsibilities they entrust in me.  I don't know what in the hells I'm doing, Constance, if we're being honest with each other.  Every day in this castle I feel entirely inadequate.  It's like I'm drowning but forgot how to swim to the surface.  At least out there with my men I know what I'm facing.  I could be stabbed out there but it would be from the front and not the back."

His face screwed up with guilt then, but a different kind of guilt than that of which she spoke.  Guilt at the recognition of his own self-interest, of his weakness.  At least her intentions came from a place of compassion and selflessness.  "I suppose to answer your question, it doesn't 'weigh on me' like the way I think you mean, because I don't find comfort in this life at all." What came out of his mouth next was a laugh of exasperation.  "Gods, that sounds so selfish.  Of course any of them out there would gladly trade places, to have a soft bed, hot food, the warmth of a fire.  What am I complaining about?" 

The mirthless grin quickly disappeared from his face as he found a spot along the far wall to concentrate on.  "I do wish I could be back out there with my men.  But I... I can't give up this life now though.  If I do, then people like Kenins wins, and everything goes back to how it was before.  The war continues, the country continues to burn, the mages out there die, my men die.  Nothing changes."

"Duke Rastognlir?"

Erwin felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up on end, and his frame went tense and rigid at Olive's revelation that the nobleman who'd betrayed her in the camps was none other than Duke Mercuxio Rastognlir.  He'd never met the man and had no preconceived notion about just what the Duke of Belkrath was capable of.  The only details he possessed came from his councilmen who knew of these matters better than him.  Just having some knowledge of his background as a disciple of Ansgar could have given Erwin some clues though. 

But by his count, that made two Dukes who'd played a part in causing Constance Carwick such trauma.  Her own father at first, and now this man.  Erwin fervently hoped that he would not be the third.

The anguish in her eyes, the trembling of her slight frame, forced him to clench his jaw tightly.  With another squeeze of her hand, he listened quietly and intently to her story of how her misplaced faith in the Duke Rastognlir had resulted in so many deaths.  Small wonder that she'd been so hesitant to place any trust in Erwin to help those mages trapped in that cave.  If their positions had been reversed, he probably wouldn't have trusted Duke Erwin Therrien either. 

A long silence fell between them after she divulged the guilt she carried.  He too looked down, at the ground between them, as he let the weight of her words sink in, imagining the toll that such experiences could take on a person.  Thoughts drifted back to their strained conversation in the library, the way her gaze had burned with such fury. 

I will try to save every single one that I can.   With the right context, every word she'd spoken, every action, suddenly seemed justifiable.

When he finally looked back up, her trembling was palpable.  He didn't know the proper words to express how heartbroken he felt for her in the moment.  His own guilt at hearing about her experience in the camps wouldn't even compare to the heavy burden weighing on her soul.  Instead, with a low exhale, he gently maneuvered himself off the chair until he was sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.  He reached over and found the hands in her lap, interlacing his fingers with one of her own.  The silence lingered as they sat their, only broken by the sound of wood crackling in the hearth, and the sound of their shared breaths.

His eyes remained downcast for a moment, before lifting to search for her own gaze.  "I promise you, Constance, from the very depths of my heart, that I am not that man," he said softly but resolutely. "I will never do to you what he did.  By Ansgar, I hope I never know such cruelty." 

A simmering anger started to well up inside the recesses in his own belly, and for a second the thought crossed his mind of the entire Duchy of Belkrath, Wulfbauer's very own neighbor, consumed in flames or swallowed up by the earth.  Was that thought cruel in and of itself?

Shaking that feeling away, he continued, "I know that's the sort of promise that earned him your confidence in the first place, but... I swear on my father's grave, I will not betray your trust.  No matter what happened in the camps, you're here now and alive, and you can start righting those wrongs.  And I'll be there beside you each step of the way."

WE will save every single one that we can, he thought.

Still a little raw from that morning's conversation and unsure of what was to come, Erwin silently positioned him near the hearth after she took the edge of his bed.  He readied himself, once again, to assuage her of any doubts she might still harbor about his intentions. 

What came next took him by complete surprise. 

He had not been prepared at all for her to launch into an apology, and then try and find the words to explain her own actions.  The way her eyes shifted uncomfortably around the room at anything except him, the clear tinges of emotion in her wavering voice... Olive was opening herself up to him in a way he'd never seen before, and it was difficult to reconcile this young woman before him with the weary, hardened persona that she'd worn like armor for all these months. 

He said nothing when she started describing the poor souls she'd encountered, the ones who'd managed to flee the horrors of the camps only to be trapped in those same horrors in their minds, men and women scarred physically and mentally from the pains they'd endured.  He didn't need to explain to Olive that he understood their plight, that he'd seen the same shock in the faces of dozens of soldiers who'd survived a bloody melee.  That she herself carried that same trauma with her now.

When her words finally failed her, and her eyes glistened dangerously in the dying light of the hearth, Erwin finally swallowed the lump in his own throat.  Letting out a soft breath and pushing himself off the wall, he snatched up the wooden chair and carried over to where she was perched at the edge of the bed.  Setting it down gingerly across from her, he sat and reached out to envelop her hands with his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. 

"There's nothing wrong with you, Constance," Erwin said in a soft voice, trying to reassure her with a steady gaze, "and there is nothing to apologize for."  He'd never encountered her in such a vulnerable state before, and just the sight of her near tears brought a small wince to his own face.  So, she'd misplaced her trust in a nobleman before and had paid some sort of terrible price for the decision.  He had to remind himself that it was her very father – the Duke of Wulfbauer – who had sent her away to the camps in the first place.  The thought brought about an almost reflexive desire to console her in the moment. 

He gave her hand another squeeze and leaned forward.  Another pang of regret ran up his spine and materialized on his features.  Regret for his actions the previous night.  Regret for having caused all of these simmering emotions to bubble to her surface and consume her.  Regret that he could have been – or perhaps he was – just like whatever nobleman betrayed her trust.  "I know it must be difficult to talk about it, and you don't have to explain anymore if it pains you too much.  But I'll listen to as much as you want to tell me, Constance."

And if she spoke any further, he silently resolved to never betray her trust like how this nobleman from the camps did.

Despite his best efforts, their brief, terse interaction hung over Erwin like a dark cloud as he went about his tasks for the remainder of the day.  A meeting with Lord Burrows regarding the status of the trade markets and the ongoing health of the castle's finances was mercifully cut short when even the old Master of Coin could tell that he wouldn't get through the inattentiveness evident in the Duke's eyes.  "Ah... these accounts can wait, my Lord.  We'll reconvene tomorrow," he'd said, giving the younger man a pat on the shoulder.  The Duke was easily distracted (especially with mundane matters of governance), but this look was something else.

Even matters of the Duchy's security only briefly snapped him out of his absentminded state.  Letters had arrived from several minor houses professing continued loyalty to Wulfbauer Keep, and presaging the arrival of their respective Lords in a matter of days to reaffirm that loyalty in person.  And, in a moment of relieved comfort, Erwin opened a letter in his younger sister's distinct penmanship offering words of encouragement and well-wishes.  He kept that letter in his pocket the rest of the day as he meandered from duty to duty.  When all his meetings were concluded, he spent the rest of the afternoon aiding the builders and guards hauling stones up to the north wall to repair an eroding parapet there.  The physical labor was a welcome reprieve from bureaucratic work – and, most importantly, it allowed him to turn his brain off from the events of the previous evening and that morning.

The moon was high in the cloudless evening sky by the time Erwin found himself alone in his chambers and the troubling thoughts returned.  The fear and loathing in Constance's eyes flashed vividly in his mind, directed at him like he was some sort of monster.  Her face dissolved into the visage of the old woman, who'd borne the exact same expression in that dusty cave.  The memory shot a pang of regret down his spine, and he felt his heart race a beat faster.  With a heavy exhale, he meandered over to his desk and dropped down into the hard wooden chair. 

After a long silent moment of inaction, he finally pulled a fresh blank parchment from under a heavy paperweight and a charcoal stylus.  Forcing his heartbeat to return to a steady clip, and consciously regulating each breath exhaling his mouth, he sketched away.  The old mage woman and her grandson slowly took form in dark lines.  Erwin was only faintly aware of the crackling of the nearby hearth and the breeze rolling in from the wide-open shutters by the time he finished and threw down the pencil to inspect his work.  Neither of the refugees had looked at him with any hint of optimism, but here, on this page, both the woman and the lad's faces were filled with foreboding – but also, as idealized, hope.  Perhaps hope that this new, untested Duke would finally enact meaningful change.

He didn't know how long he sat slumped in that uncomfortable chair, eyes alternating between the rough sketch and the flickering light of the subsiding fire, but eventually a sound at the door snapped him out of his reverie.  A knock, and then a slight creak as the door swung open ever so slightly.  And that voice that drifted in.  Constance. Her presence was entirely unexpected at this uncommon hour, and it took a second for him to comprehend just who was calling.  Finally though, he shook the surprise away and hastily stood, chair legs scraping against the stone floor.  Striding over to the door, he gently took hold of the heavy ring latch and slowly opened it enough to allow what faint light was left in the chamber to spill into the hallway and illuminate Olive's frame.  He peered down at her silently with his tired eyes, before finally swinging the door open further. "Please, come in," he said in a soft, hoarse voice, gesturing with an inviting hand.

Inwardly he didn't want to admit it but, for the second time that day, a wave of relief washed over his form as though the fact that she had not fled the castle was a victory.  The relief was also mixed with apprehension, perhaps at the unknown conversation yet to come. 

The suspicion dripping from her voice gave Erwin pause, and his frown deepened.  It seemed that the more they spoke in this library, the more Olive was becoming apprehensive and agitated, almost accusatory.  At this rate, she'd flee the castle by mid-afternoon.

"Just curious, that is all," he finally responded with a shake of his head, running a hand to the back of his neck to rub the stiffness away. "But we do not have to speak of it any further.  Like I said, I'll help you find another way, to save more lives."  If she would accept that help.  Based on how withdrawn she'd become, Erwin wondered if she would ever speak to him about mage matters again.

Silence and tension pervaded the library again, with only the faintest sounds of castle activity filtering in from the other side of the shut doors.  There was a palpable fear in Olive's eyes as she regarded Erwin with that same look that the old lady has given him in that clearing.  For a brief moment he considered reaching out to place a comforting hand on Constance's shoulder and show her that he genuinely meant her no ill.  The way she'd taken a step back from him though, as if he was her enemy...

Don't make it any worse, came that voice in his head.

Finally, he sighed and relaxed the tightness in his cheeks.  "I'm sorry for how I acted last night, and for distressing you," he said quietly, eyes briefly looking away from her.  "I'll leave you be if you want.  If I can do anything to make amends, Constance, do please let me know.  And... do give my regards and my apologies to your friend too."

Erwin remained seated even as Olive bound to her feet and shuffled uneasily in front of him.  If he also felt uneasy in the moment, he tried his best to keep any traces of it off his face, opting instead to surreptitiously fidget two of his fingers inside his other hand.  She seemed much more guarded than before, and a question crossed the back of his mind about whether he'd estranged her – both with his actions from the previous evening, and his words this morning.

The sharpness in her voice at having to deny using her magic within the castle brought about a frown and a raised brow.  But it was her admission, of having utilized this very Keep to user fleeing mages out of the war-torn country, made that frown deepen.  To accomplish her task, that meant that she would have had to smuggle those mages into the castle first, if not through the main gate then through a side passageway.  And the old store room... the stables were frequented enough during the course of a day that she'd have to have worked in tandem with at least some of the Keep's staff to keep it all covert.  Her secret stablehand lover made the most sense, and suddenly he wondered who it was again.

But of course she was smuggling mages.  After all, she'd slipped out of the castle in the dying light to risk her own safety and save those mages trapped in the landslide.  And her scathing rebuke of him just moments earlier...  I will try to save every single one that I can.  Those defiant, almost vitriolic words echoed in his ears.

With that scowl plastered on her face, it almost seemed as though Constance was daring Erwin to criticize her work, and he certainly could have thought of a dozen ways to admonish her at that juncture.  Instead, the voice in his head chidingly reminded him: You said you'd support her.  Slowly, Erwin too stood up from the window sill, a long, low exhale escaping his nose as he peered down at her with a stony gaze.  After a second, he said, "The stakes are too high, and bringing them through the castle is much too dangerous."  He swallowed and his face relaxed slightly.  "But... I'll help you find another way to get them out.  Through the village, perhaps, out of Wulfbauer and out of the country."

Erwin took a deeper breath this time and glanced past her shoulder at the shut door, before looking back down to Olive.  "I would like to see how you've been doing it up until this point though.  If you'll show me."

The tone of Olive's almost quivering voice caused Erwin's back to stiffen.  He'd struck a nerve, an a painfully sensitive one at that.  The crease of his frown deepened, but he sat there silently as she recounted the list of horrific injustices that the mages had endured in those camps nestled in the frozen wastes of the north, the imagery of each example clear as day in his mind.  To have suffered so greatly at such a young age... he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain that she'd kept bottled up inside her all these years, which threatened to violently burst from her in that moment. 

Hearing the intonations of her voice, the barely contained fury, was difficult for him for an entirely different reason though.  He'd been a soldier who, until his father had assumed the Dukeship, had served in the armies of those very same men who'd adjudged the guilt of these mages and who'd directed their forced relocation and liquidation.  Erwin had known of the camps in broad strokes.  All of the soldiers did.  But the skirmishes and battles in front of him had consumed so much of his focus that he'd always let the plight of the mages fall to the wayside. 

Her recitation hit home just how complicit he was in all of this, how his own inaction and the near indifference of soldiers like him had directly contributed to her suffering, and to the bleak circumstances in which all those innocent mages found themselves.  The image of the old woman from the clearing flashed in his head, and Erwin felt an intense wave of guilt washing over his frame.  His jaw was tightly clenched by the time Olive finished speaking.  He could almost feel her green eyes searing holes into him, and he had to look down for a long, uncomfortable moment.

When he finally looked back up, there was a melancholic remorse in his own gaze, and his voice was soft as an exhale. "I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to agitate you." 

She had agreed with him though – saving every mage still struggling to survive out there was an impossible task.  Not that it lessened her almost fanatical desire to at least try, and in the process possibly risk her own life and safety.  It was a reckless sentiment, but a nonetheless admirable one.  And it took more courage than most men he knew possessed.   

He steeled his expression with a slow nod.  "You're right, of course we'll do what we can.  You have my support, Constance.  I'd just like to ... know what the plan is.  So I'm not making any rash decisions again because I walked into an unfamiliar situation."

Erwin leaned back now and rested the crown of his head against the stone wall, posture sagging slightly.  His eyes naturally drifted up the bookshelf directly in front of him, and then further up to where the far wall adjoined the room's ceiling.  "I've been... preoccupied," he offered halfheartedly.  Or more accurately, he had consciously found things to preoccupy him over the previous days just to avoid having to broach the still-sensitive subject of their betrothal.  "But that's a poor excuse on my part.  I should have been more available to you, and for you to feel like you can talk to me."

He tilted his head to the side to regard her at an angle.  "I do wish you'd told me what you were planning though.  I most certainly would have done my best to talk you out of it, not that it would have worked.  In the end, you did the right thing in saving those people."  His face scrunched into a frown, and he let out a low breath.  The events of the previous night had truly demonstrated just how much Olive was willing to possibly sacrifice to protect her fellow mages.  It was at the same time noble and disconcerting.  "I just worry that you think you can save every single one of them out there." And do something reckless, he finished the thought in his head.

It was not lost upon him that she'd already indicated a willingness to trade her own safety to protect the mages struggling to survive in the wilderness.  Yet, he could not let go of the feeling burrowing in his gut that he needed to see her protected.  It was hard to tell whether it was Olive or himself being selfish.

With a sigh, Erwin faced forward again and sat back up.  "Look," he continued, "you know I agree with you, Constance, that we can't go back to how things were before the war.  I want a better, fairer Connlaoth too, and I want to do what I can to help make that change.  We just have to be careful about it, and exercise discretion."

He paused for a moment before glancing back to her, another frown creeping over his features.  "You haven't done this sort of thing before, have you?" he asked cautiously.

With a soft exhale, Erwin approached the window slowly before taking the offered seat.  He sat silently with his hands clasped, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on the nape of his neck.  He regarded her intently but silently as she spoke, eyes only occasionally drifting to the closed wooden door, beyond which the castle was already beginning to stir.

Only after she'd finished speaking did he look down at his hands.  A slight frown crossed his features as he considered her words – and his own.  Letting out another small breath, he tilted his head back up to her.  "What you did was the right thing," he said.  "Those people needed your help in that moment, and they'll live another day because of what you did.  I just wish that..."

He paused before completing that thought, shaking his head slightly.  What was he going to say?  That he wished she'd just told him about it beforehand, instead of surreptitiously riding out in the late evening?  In what circumstance would she ever have done such a thing, to tell him that she was sneaking out to use her magic?  For the last few years, the two of them had lived completely different lives, lives that were completely contradictory and antagonistic to each other.  The fact that she was opening up this much about it already felt like a miracle to him.

Clearing his throat, Erwin looked back up at her.  "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Constance, I truly am.  To you, and your friend, and all of the other mages.  I won't even pretend to understand what you all went through in the camps."

He paused to clear his throat, eyes drifting up toward the shelves upon shelves of books, the tomes in the highest recesses covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs.  Anything to avoid looking Olive directly in the eyes in that moment.  Finally, though, he turned back to her.  "I'm sorry I drew my sword at that moment.  What I did last night was rash, and without thought.  Your friend didn't deserve that, and neither did you, to feel again like your humanity was being taken away.  I'm sorry you had to ever feel that way in the first place."

His brow furrowed slightly.  "I didn't expect to find you out there with someone.  Hells, I just wanted to talk to you about something Burrows had mentioned, and Bairn told me you were not far gone from the keep and that I could catch up.  But in that clearing, all I could see was your companion standing over you, and my mind immediately thought that if he was there to harm you, then it was his life or yours. I would have ran him through with my blade, without any hesitation."

Erwin sat upright now, leaning back against the stone wall and rubbing his face with a hand.  "I hate all of this mage camp business.  It's asinine.  If I could snap my fingers and Wulfbauer could be rid of all this misery, I would do it in an instant, but I can't.  And in the meantime, while I try to figure out how to solve this whole mess, I need to make sure that you're safe too.  I know you think you don't need me to protect you, but it's hard to shake the feeling that it's not my responsibility." Lifting a hand, he pointed a finger in the window's direction.  "What if it wasn't me out there?  What if someone else had found you two with all those mages, someone more than happy to send the Church after you?  You'd be dead, that old lady and her family would be dead, and this whole duchy that we're trying to fix would crumble down around us."


Erwin let out a soft sigh, and glanced off at nothing in particular.  "If you want to help, there has to be a better way than riding out alone."

Erwin arrived at the library just as Olive began stirring from her slumber, and he quietly remained by the ajar door, still slightly ajar, so as not to startle her.  It didn't seem to have the intended effect though as, a moment later, he jolted awake with such speed that he almost took a step back. 

"Ah, good morning," he replied stiffly, one foot halfway into the room and unwilling to enter further at the risk of disconcerting her further.  At her awkwardly delivered half-joke though, Erwin's face screwed up into an even more uncomfortable expression.  Quickly he slipped into the library and kicked the door shut behind him, hearing its ponderous weight close with a thud and a click of the latch.

"By Ansgar, I'm not here to do anything of the sort," he hastily answered with a severe frown, hands held up as if trying to assuage her, whatever good that might do.  "Look, I just to have a conversation, about last night.  About what happened out there."  That last sentence was spoken in a noticeably quieter voice, even though there was nobody else between the shelves of books but the two of them.  "Just the two of us, nobody else.  Remember that thing we said the other night, about honesty?  Well, I'm here to try doing that."

And apologize, he thought.  Erwin cleared his throat and took another slow step forward.  For some reason his breath had quickened, and it took a second to mentally compose himself again.  He knew he had to answer for his actions the previous night, but his mind was still trying to formulate exactly what he had to apologize about.  And, at some level, he also felt (whether unjustly or not) that he deserved an explanation about her actions.  Instead of verbalizing either of those thoughts though, he just peered at her cautiously, lips pursed and brow furrowed expectantly, like he was approaching a stag caught in a hunter's snare.  "So... can we talk?"

His eyes narrowed into a slight squint as he realized that he had stopped directly in the painted light streaming in from the stained glass window.  Taking another step forward, he offered his own attempt at lightheartedness.  "I'm unarmed, I promise."

Erwin's face hardened as she all but whispered a hollow thanks to him and handed him back the muddy coat without ever looking up.  The garment sat limply in his hand as he watched her retreat toward the keep and disappear inside.  His eyes lingered for a long while at the corner at which she'd turned, before finally letting out a soft exhale. 

Turning to Bairn, he swallowed the dry lump in his throat and let out a low cough.  "Yes..." he repeated vacantly, "we did the right thing."  He looked down at the soiled coat again, the memory of the old lady from the cave flashing in his mind, the look of stark terror on her face, the scream of soldier.  Beside her image stood the bloodied child, and the man whose crippled leg had been miraculously restored.  All three of them had left that clearing on their own accord, along with the remainder of their party.  But at least they were alive.

"We did the right thing," he said once more, with more conviction in his voice.

--------------------------------

The hearth in his study was still lit, and the crackling flames enveloped the room in a comforting warmth by the time Erwin stepped in and closed the door behind him.  Absently, he tossed the muddy coat onto the stone floor.  The cave lingered in his mind, but now Constance was in the scene, willing the elements to bend to her command, the pulses of frost growing stronger and stronger until the entire landslide disintegrated in a flood of rock and earth. 

Perhaps it was the image of her wielding that power, or perhaps it was the way she'd looked at him in that clearing, with a mixture of anger, and fear.  Either way the thought shot a chill down his body.  Even with the fire burning, he somehow still felt cold.  Would she ever trust him again?

By the time his head cleared enough to notice his surroundings, Erwin found that he had slumped into a round-backed chair, his scabbarded sword laying clumsily across his desk.  At some point he'd pulled his muddy riding boots off and tossed them near the door, next to the coat.  Leaning forward now, he rubbed at his face and stared at the hearth light dancing shadows across the floor, lost in thought.

--------------------------------

A cool draft and the sound of an opening door stirred Erwin awake.  Vaguely, he recalled having an odd dream, though he could not remember who or what it was about. Slowly he blinked his eyes open to the pre-dawn light filtering from the window, the only light illuminating the dark room.  The hearth had gone cold hours ago, only a pile of ash and soot in its recesses.

As he sat up, wincing from the soreness in his neck from having drifted off in such an uncomfortable position, he felt the sensation of something sliding off his shoulders and onto his lap.  It was a blanket that someone had draped across him.  With a grunt, he turned to the source of the breeze – the now open door, with Bethany standing there expectantly with clean clothes and a fresh pair of boots balanced in one arm, and a small tray of bread somehow balanced in the other. 

"I fell asleep in here," he said, pointing out the obvious.

"Yes you did, my Lord," Bethany responded as she approached him now, setting the boots down next to his chair and the folded clothes and food on his desk.  His sword had been replaced into its spot above the mantle.  "You looked very tired, so I did not want to wake you."

Sitting fully upright now, Erwin gave her an appreciative nod as he pulled the blanket away from his form and gathered half of it up into a ball on his lap.  He blinked twice and gave his head a rough shake, trying to force himself awake even more.  He barely noticed the housemaid reaching down to finish the job for him and pick up the blanket.

"Bairn told me what happened," Bethany remarked even as she shook out the blanket (now covered in a layer of dirt from his clothes, still soiled from the night before).  "That must've been such a frightful thing, my Lord, putting a poor animal out of its misery.  I couldn't imagine doing anything of the sort!"  She paused her task for a moment and gave him an innocent, quizzical look.  "And it must've been terrible for Lady Carwick too.  She couldn't even sleep in her own bed.  I found her in the library last night, curled up in the corner like a babe."

Mention of Constance fully snapped him out of his tired reverie, and he peered up at her with a frown.  "The library?"

"Yes, my Lord," Bethany said with an emphatic nod, before turning her eyes back to the blanket, folding it into a neat square.  "Tossing and turning, like the Lady was having a bad dream. I didn't want to disturb her either, so I also laid a blanket for her." Her expression turned sympathetic.  "It must have been such a hard thing for her to do." 

Erwin turned away to hide his grimace.  Bethany's news drove home the reminder that they'd have to talk about what happened at some point.  Might as well pull the arrow out now before it festers.  Standing up from his chair, he answered softly but with a tone of finality. "It was very hard.  I'll go check on her now.  Thank you, Bethany."  For her part, the housemaid took no offense to being dismissed, but simply smiled and curtsied before taking the blanket to be washed.

Once he'd changed into the fresh set of clothes, Erwin ran a hand through his hair, fingers feeling for bits of dirt still clinging to the roots.  He'd need a bath to gdt it all out, but that could wait.  Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to the study and headed towards the library.

Although he was sliding down the pile of rocks a second time, only now did Erwin realize just how tight and cramped the nook was.  It was a miracle that eight refugees had managed to huddle together in here, and the thought also served as a grim reminder that, somewhere buried beneath all of this rubble was the wooden-legged man's unfortunate wife.  With a grimace, he quickly wiped that image from his mind and knelt down to retrieve his blade, half-illuminated by the thin beam of moonlight that managed to shine through the opening above, already covered in a thin layer of dust. 

The ascent back up to the entranceway seemed to stretch forever to him, and with each crunch of rock beneath his muddy boots, he found his heart racing quicker in anticipation of being greeted by an empty field.  When he finally poked his head out, the sight of two idling horses greeted him with a feeling of relief, along Olive's small figure huddled up against a tree.  Sheathed sword gripped tightly, Erwin slid back down the rocky embankment and cautiously approached her. 

As he neared, he could see her face buried in her knees, her shoulders rising and falling with each shiver.  In the darkness, Olive might as well have been sinking into the grass itself.  She looked... defeated.  A far cry from her burst of fury earlier in the evening, and a shadow of the mage who, just now, had wielded almost preposterous powers to move earth and stone.  Ewin reached his hand out, at first hesitating and snatching it back to his chest, unsure of what to do.  After a moment though, his lips pursed and he let out a long exhale.  Dropping gently down to one knee next to her, he laid his sword on the ground and placed a hand on Olive's shoulder.  His eyes studied her quivering form intently, before finally he shrugged off his own coat.  When he'd first climbed up to the cave's opening, the old mage woman had recoiled at its sight – a finely-stitched leather and sheepskin garment in Wulfbauer greys.  Now, as he draped it over Constance's shoulders, it was soiled with dirt and mud. 

The night felt almost eerily calm without the shouting and screaming of the refugee mages.  An owl's hoots were joined by the echoes of a howling wolf somewhere in the distance, beyond the sandstone pillars around them.  Behind them, the horses let out a few brusque snorts and gently clopped at the ground.  Erwin let his own silence meld into the background, the only other sounds coming from their breaths.  When enough time had passed, and both Olive's trembling shoulders and the breaths emerging from her lips had steadied, he finally broke the stillness with a quiet voice.  "Let's get you back to the Keep."

After helping Olive up and into Searchlight's saddle, their ride back through the narrow stone passageways, and back along the main dirt road toward Wulfbauer Keep, proceeded in more tense, ruminative silence.  The moon was high in the night sky by the time the two horses wound up the ascending pathway toward the castle's stone gateway.  With an audible grind, the steel portcullis lifted, and the heavy oak gates swung open just in time to allow the Duke and future Duchess to ride through and into the torchlit castle courtyard.  Stablehands stood waiting expectantly, and they all stole puzzled glances at each other at the sight of Erwin and Constance disheveled and covered in mud and grime.

Erwin rubbed the stubble on his chin with a calloused hand, tired eyes turning to regard the approaching Silas.  He pressed his mouth together uncomfortably at the man's thanks, but acknowledged his words with a slight nod.  "Nobody will know you were here," he replied after a second, before falling silent again. 

Slowly, the Duke's eyes drifted over to the injured man, who by now was standing upright.  He could not help but stare at the wood that had replaced his crushed leg just minutes ago.  It's just magic, he told himself in the back of his mind, yet he could not shake the uneasiness in his gut at the sight of living tree bark where flesh used to be.  That uneasiness slowly morphed, and a feeling of bitterness washed over him again.  He'd seen stronger men bleed out after having lost a limb, but this man was already walking.  Where was this magic before?  No, he told himself silently.  That was unfair to the man, to his compatriots, and to Silas.  The man had survived a horrific injury – and that's more than anyone could have hoped for.

With an apprehensive look, he turned back to Silas.  For a long while, his mind churned for the right words to say.  Eventually though, Erwin just said quietly, "Good luck to all of you.  Keep them safe, and yourself."  He stole another glance at the wooden-legged man.  "And, ah... give him my condolences.  For his wife."  For everything else that man had gone through, some of it a result of the actions of men like Erwin.

Once the refugee party had filtered out of the muddy clearing, Erwin became equally conscious of the fact that it was just Olive and himself again.  The dying embers of his anger and frustration still smoldered somewhere inside of him, threatening to well up again, but they were joined by a hundred other conflicting emotions that he could not even begin to process.  Somewhere in him, he felt an impulse to voice his disapproval at all that had transpired.  Her downcast expression almost looked as though she had resigned herself to that fate. 

Erwin could not shake from his mind the image of her forlorn expression though, as Silas and the others took their leave, a reminder that even though she'd pledged to provide him the support he needed, her heart clearly was still with every mage still wandering the wilderness just trying to survive a nation that had forsaken them.  Perhaps one of those emotions he now felt was guilt, for how impulsively he'd acted when he first came across her and her mage friend.  But he couldn't find it in him to apologize just yet. 

"My sword's still in the cave," he said suddenly, as though that would somehow ease the palpable tension between them.  It did not.  "I have to get it, so people don't find out we were ever here," he added, his voice lacking even a hint of blame.  If she was expecting him to dress her down, that was the best he could muster.  Truthfully, he was also mentally exhausted, after what was supposed to be a calm evening ride and a conversation with Constance about some financial question (which he could not recall at that moment) had taken the most unexpected of turns.

Somehow, their horses had found their way into the pool of mud and rock with them.  Slowly, Erwin reached out and took the reins of both, before taking a step forward and holding them out for Olive.  "Then we can just go back to the Keep," he added numbly, fully recognizing that he might emerge from the cave after having retrieved his sword, just to find that she'd mounted up and ridden away, perhaps to follow her friend and the band of refugees.   

Watching Silas work his magic on the poor man's mangled leg was at once remarkable and disquieting.   The sight of the wood branch reaching its tendrils around and assimilating the limb caused Erwin's breath to catch in his throat, but even then, he found that he could not pull his eyes away.  A hundred thoughts raced through his mind, but when they all faded away, he was somehow left with the strangest emotion of all: resentment. 

Where was this magic when it could have helped those he knew?  Why was it not present when his brothers-in-arms, laying on the battlefield with wounds too grievous for even their field surgeons to treat, could have benefited from it - or, in some cases, lived?  What a bloody waste, he thought bitterly before shaking his head clear of that delusion.  No matter how useful such a power, it would never be accepted in Connlaoth. 

The entire ragtag group of mages was still giving him a wide, suspicious berth.  However, it wasn't until he caught sight of the thin boy eyeing him fearfully that Erwin realized his brows had narrowed into a deep, thoughtful frown.  Quickly he looked away, thankful that, at that moment, the injured man finally stirred awake to the sounds of relief from his compatriots.  Instead, his eyes drifted over to the remains of the landslide.  It occurred to him that he'd left his sword somewhere in the cave just beyond that pile of rocks.  He made a mental note to retrieve it, lest any passersby stumble across the fine steel.

With Silas and the mages tending to the man, coaxing him back to his feet, Erwin turned his gaze back to the others.  "What now?" he said softly under his breath to Olive.  "Where will they go?"

Between Silas himself, Erwin managed to pull each of the mages out from the cramped confines of the stone hollow.  The way each of them flinched at his touch was not lost on him, but he numbly brushed their wariness aside and focused on the task at hand.  By the time he lifted the seventh one out of the cave, a bony shell of a man with barely a hair left on his head, Erwin had to brace himself against the rock pile and catch his breath.

He watched Olive scramble up the slope next to him, and his eyes followed her down the hole and into the shadows.  When her cracking voice echoed up to him, he spared the ragged group of survivors one more look before steadying his breath and climbing in after her.  Sliding down the slope, his scabbard ricocheting against the rocks all the way down, Erwin soon found himself hovering over the sobbing man. 

What little moonlight that filtered into the cave from the opening above illuminated the man's badly mangled and bleeding leg, and Erwin had to grit his teeth to prevent his expression from belying his sinking heart.  He'd seen this type of wound before, in men who had been trapped under fallen horses, but not to this extent.  The rocks had smashed the limb completely.  Even with a cursory glance, he could tell that the man's chances of survival were slim.

There was no time to dwell on that though.  With an almost practiced precision, he reached down to his waist and unbuckled his leather belt, removing his scabbard and laying it on the ground.  Kneeling next to the man, Erwin gave his hand a hard squeeze.  "Courage," he said firmly with false assurance, "We'll have you out and back on your feet soon."  And then he slipped the belt underneath the man's upper thigh, just above where a splintered bone protruded from his torn pants, and fastened it tightly with a strong pull.  The man's cries turned into a loud scream.

Glancing over to Olive with a foreboding look, he said simply, "Help me get him up."  He roughly pulled the man up into a sitting position, and the two of them managed to lift him over Erwin's shoulders. The jostling caused the man to scream even louder, but Erwin's face hardened and he drowned out the noise.  The precarious climb back up the slope was much more difficult with the added weight, and he had to steady his swaying body against Olive's on more than one occasion.  Step by step, though the pair climbed out of the pile of rocks and back up to the opening where Silas was already waiting to help. 

Dimly, Erwin realized that, somewhere during their ascent, the man's screams had stopped. 
Together, the three of them brought the unconscious man back down into the clearing and laid his limp down on the only mossy patch of grass not covered in thick mud, as the the rest of the survivors swarmed around them.  With the man's weight off his shoulders, Erwin doubled over and steadied his hands on his knees for a moment, licking his lips and inhaling heavily to catch his breath.  He watched the man for a brief moment, almost feeling each ragged breath that escaped from blue lips, before turning to Olive.  Even in the darkness, her emotions were clear on her face.

Swallowing, Erwin lifted a hand to her back and drew her some paces away from the injured man and his cohorts.  "His leg is crushed in multiple places," he muttered with a grainy voice, almost whispering, a grim look on his face.  "The tourniquet gives us some time, but not much.  I've seen this injury before, and it's bad, very bad.  He'll need a surgeon if he's to have a chance.  And if he lives – if he lives - I don't know if his leg will survive with him."  He pressed his mouth together and gave her a hard look, not mentioning what she probably already knew, that finding a willing surgeon would be a near-impossible task. 

And he did not mention the other option, involving his sword... and mercy.