Erwin could do no more but stand as motionless as a carved sculpture, his eyes wide and locked tightly on Olive's form.  The frost seemed to almost radiate from her figure in pulsing tendrils, each arm reaching out farther and farther before melting away in globules of water.  The surreal scene unfolding before Erwin might has well have come out of a child's fairytale or an abstract painting.  In the back of his mind he tried to recall magic being used this way, but no conjured memory could even remotely compare to what he was witnessing.

Even though Silas was stood right next to him, the man's terse voice was but a distant call compared to the sounds of crackling ice and grinding rock.  You should consider yourself lucky.  Erwin turned his head to regard the man, his enthrallment fleetingly disturbed.  The duke's mouth opened slightly at first, produced no words.  After a moment, though, Erwin blinked twice and pressed his lips back together hard.  With an almost ruminative nod, part agreement and part simple acknowledgement, his gaze turned back to the remarkable display of power unfolding before them. 

And then suddenly, the entire heap of accumulated stone and clay gave one final, tortured groan before giving way.  Erwin's heart leapt up his chest at the sound, his reverie dissolving away in an instant.  Without conscious thought, he lurched forward toward Olive even as the jagged slab of rock crashed down, narrowly missing her thin frame.  "CONSTANCE!"

The deluge of mud flooded outward from where the haphazard pile previously had stood, and it took all his balance to remain upright as it flowed around his legs and filled the clearing.  It was another six bounding steps through the squishing, sucking mud before he finally reached her fallen form, dropping down onto his knees in the mud next to Olive.  His hand found a tight grip on her shoulder, and he peered down at her earnestly.  Where moments earlier his face had been consumed in fury, now it was replaced with an expression flickering with trepidation, but also filled with concern.  All of the color had drained from Olive's face, and he could see her chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.  But Erwin could see that she was unharmed.  He remained there for a long moment, gaze locked onto hers, only faintly perceiving his own rapid heartbeat and quickened breath from all the excitement.  Frightened.  Awed.  Relieved.

Then, almost instinctively, his face hardened once more with steely resolve, and he climbed back up to his feet.  Slowly, and with several glances back over his shoulder at Olive, Erwin trudged through the lake of stone and rock toward the narrow opening into the cavern that had materialized.  The heap of remaining stones were slick with mud, and climbing up the pile proved to be more difficult than anticipated, as on more than one occasion Erwin almost lost his footing to a loose rock.  Eventually, though, he managed to scramble up to the opening. 

The sky was mercifully cloudless this night, allowing the moon's gleam to shine a shaft of light into the dust-filled hole.  Erwin could make out several huddled forms, but in the light he could not tell just how many were trapped down here.  The one closest by, whose eyes had flashed briefly in the light, looked to be a woman in her fifties, but her ragged clothing was caked in mud and dirt, and her gaunt, malnourished face made it impossible to discern more.  No matter though.  With one hand gripping tightly onto a loaf-shaped rock to keep himself steady, he reached down toward her.  "Take my hand," he uttered.

The woman let out almost a cry of anguished relief, but then immediately froze.  As her blinking eyes slowly adjusted to the light, the blurred silhouette of the man on the other side of the hole came into focus – a man too well-groomed to be anyone associated with their party, and whose finery was a far cry from their own tattered threads.

And he had a sword at his side.

Trembling, the woman recoiled repulsively from Erwin's hand and nearly tumbled backwards back into the cave, sending pebbles bouncing into the darkness.  With another cry, she scrambled back toward the huddled mass of bodies and let out a loud wail.  "Soldier! Soldier!"  As if on cue, a cacophony of moans and shrieks began to fill the cave.

Erwin froze as well, stunned at the unexpected reaction, hand still outstretched.  He could feel the rock and mud underneath his weight starting to shift and wobble, though, and with a clenched jaw, he repeated more forcefully, "Take my hand, quick." When none of the shadowed people came forward, he gave his hand a shake and added, "I'm not here to harm you, I'm here to help."

And after a few seconds of inaction, a different figure crept forward out of the darkness.  The quivering boy couldn't have seen more than twelve summers, and his dirty blonde hair was matted down with blood.  The child's eyes betrayed his deep fear and mistrust, but also desperation.  The boy reached up with a dangerously thin arm, just far enough for the duke to grasp his wrist.  Erwin was almost surprised by how little he weighed, as he practically yanked the youth off his feet and hauled him out of the cave.

Seeing that one of them had escaped their stone coffin, the rest of the trapped bodies began surging forward, some limping, others coughing.  Erwin reached back down the hole again even as he turned over his shoulder and gave Silas a silent, almost demanding look, gesturing with his head for the mage to come help him.

Even before Silas spoke, Erwin could already anticipate what news the man might deliver.  But hearing those words spoken out loud, confirming his nagging suspicions, still caused the color to drain from the Duke's face.  The man had not been traveling alone after all, but rather with a whole host of mages.  Refugees, if he had to guess, possibly not even from Wulfbauer, but nonetheless fleeing through the wilderness from whatever horrors lay behind them.  Innocent lives, children.

So this was why Constance had ridden out of the castle this evening, why she'd veered off the winding mountain path and deep into this maze of crags and brush – to use her magic to help these trapped souls. 

"...where are they trapped?" was all Erwin could muster in the moment, bereft of the appropriate words for this entirely unfamiliar situation.  He only stole furtive glances toward Olive, unable to bring himself to look at her directly.  He was almost grateful as, silently, Silas ushered Olive away and gestured for him to follow.  For a moment he hesitated, watching their backs vanish into a narrow passageway at the end of the clearing and leaving him alone in the clearing. 

Instead, he stepped over to where his sword lay discarded in the soft mossy earth some paces from him.  He stared down pensively at the gleaming steel.  You were doing the right thing, he stubbornly thought to himself.  The image of Olive turning on him with incredulous anger would not leave his mind though.  It was a microcosm of his entire life these last few bleak months.  How, no matter what good he tried to do, it never worked.  He didn't know her at all, just like he didn't know what it took to be a Duke. 

Slowly, he bent over and picked the sword off the ground, brushing flecks of grass off the hilt and re-sheathing it at his side.  His blue eyes turned back to the passageway at the end of the clearing.  Should he follow them?  Was he prepared for what he might see at the end of that tunnel?  Swallowing the lump of doubt in his throat, Erwin hardened his face once more and willed the apprehension out of him as he quickly squeezed through the passageway after them.  The view from the other side – the massive tumble of jagged rocks piled haphazardly on top of one another – elicited a low exhale from him.  It would have taken a dozen men to move that pile. 

Or one mage.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, he finally turned his full gaze upon Constance - or rather the complete stranger that only looked like Constance.  That she was a mage was no secret, but until now it'd always just seemed to Erwin an abstract label tied to her name.  She had never displayed those uncommon talents in front of him, nor would she ever have had a reason to do so.  And some naïve part of him thought that, having accepted the offer to be Duchess of Wulfbauer, she might have never used those powers again. 

All of that just underscored the gravity of what she going to do.  If he'd previously dismissed her magic as abstract, she was about to reinforce to him just how real it was.

Laying there on his back, Erwin positively bristled at her comments. "Well, you're not out there on the run anymore!" he shot back at her, feeling the heat of anger flood his cheeks.  "You're the future Duchess of Wulfbauer!  That's who I'm protecting!"

He had to ball his fists up tightly at that point to refrain from letting his words spiral out of control into something utterly catastrophic.  Oh, the words that were just aching to burst from his mouth... about how he couldn't have cared less if she was actually a damsel in distress, or some great warrior queen from a child's bedtime story, because he would have acted just the same.  He was trying to protect the future of Wulfbauer, one in which they could both exist.  Why could she not see what he was trying to accomplish here?  Why did she - all of this - have to be so difficult?  She was supposed to be helping him, not undercutting him.

No...they were supposed to be helping each other. 

As she turned away, Erwin felt his body almost trembling at the anger and frustration welling inside him.  In the moment, he couldn't tell if he was angrier at her selfishness, or himself for having lost his composure so quickly.  He'd always been a calm and collected man, even in the midst of battle when facing a hail of gunfire or a bloodied blade swinging at his head.  He'd worn that stoicism like armor in his time as Duke, as though control of his demeanor also meant that he could control the chaos around him.  Yet slowly, that armor had been chipped away over many long months, crumbling under the weight of the Dukeship.  In this moment, he was left completely exposed, and his emotions had suddenly poured out.  A part of him was glad that only Constance (and her acquaintance) were there to witness the outburst, instead of an entire court of his peers.

Still seething but fighting to suppress the frustration into his gut with long breaths, Erwin slowly rolled over and climbed back to his feet.  He couldn't stand to look at her at that moment, as if doing so would affirm just how uncharacteristically agitated he'd become.  Instead, he turned his eyes to Silas. 

"Accident?" Erwin finally asked with a furrowed brow. "What accident?  If aid is needed, of course I would not deny it.  You should have just come to the castle seeking help, instead of out here." 

As soon as he spoke those words though, his eyes widened slightly and he pressed his mouth shut.  The stranger had seemed a common bandit from a distance, but up close Erwin could finally notice the gaunt face and hollow eyes of a man who'd lived too hard of a life.  He'd seen that look before, in the eyes of young soldiers traumatized by the horrors of battle.  Constance Carwick almost had it in her eyes as well, that first day they'd brought her to the Keep as a captured rebel... and a mage.  In an instant he knew the bond between the two of them, forged through their shared suffering, was something that he could never understand.

What he did understand in that moment was the implication of Silas' words.

"You're a mage too."

With his blade freed from its scabbard, all of Erwin's martial instincts burst into the forefront of his mind as his horse galloped forward from the passageway.  His eyes darted quickly, left then right, scanning the scenario emerging before him.  Constance and the stranger were standing mere paces from each other, but the man appeared to be unarmed as of now.  Judging from his distance from them, it was possible for him to get between the pair, before the man could produce a blade or make any other move.

When Olive rushed forward and shouted for him to stop, Erwin hesitated, perplexed.  What in Ansgar's blood name was she doing?  He didn't have a chance to further that process that thought, however.  Inexplicably and without warning, his horse suddenly skidded to a halt.  Earth and sky tumbled over each other in his vision as he somersaulted out of the saddle, and his body crashed into the mossy ground with a heavy thud.

Erwin laid there stunned, all the wind knocked from his lungs, his vision swimming in blurriness.  The moment quickly passed though, as his senses flooded back into him, and he realized how vulnerable he was down here on the ground, sword dislodged from his grip in the fall.  With a grunt, he rolled over onto his back – only to find himself staring up at Constance Carwick holding his sword.

Her angered words elicited no reaction from him as he just laid there, staring up at her, mouth slightly agape, an expression on his face that matched her incredulity.  He was trying to protect her!  "Beheading?" he repeated, almost defensively, after a moment of silence, "what are you talking about?  I wasn't..."  The words trailed off.  He'd been so focused on Olive that he had barely noticed Silas shuffling over to comfort his horse.  But a glimpse from the corner of his eye was more than enough.  The way the man whispered gently to his steed, and then it walked itself back down the dark sandstone passageway...

When Silas finally stepped over to the pair, the Duke's eyes slowly turned to where he'd gently placed his hand on Olive's shoulder.  Incredibly, the stranger seemed the most rational of the three.  Erwin's face wrinkled again.  He'd mentioned her by name, and the serenity in his voice was a complete juxtaposition to the situation at hand.  "You two know each other?"

His look of confusion slowly faded away, replaced by a deep scowl and a piercing glare directed right at her.  This time, it was his turn to raise his voice.  How was he at fault here?  "What on earth am I doing? There's a bloody war brewing, and I find you in a hidden clearing, cornered by god-knows-who.  What am I supposed to think?  What in the hells are you doing?!" 

As Erwin rode in a steady gallop westward, he kept his eyes focused on the disturbed trail of leaves canvassing the dirt road even while the rhythmic sound hooves underfoot brought about a strange calmness in him.  It felt as though the further Erwin strayed from the Keep, the more the burden of the Dukeship almost melted away from his shoulders.  All around him, stone pinnacles rose out of surrounding landscape like beautiful spines out the back of a great slumbering beast.  The formations felt familiar yet foreign to him at the same time.  Somewhere in his mind, he recalled having ridden this way before, perhaps in his youth, with his siblings.  But that was long ago.  By Ansgar, his younger brother must almost be twenty-three by now, and almost a knight.  More than a year had passed since he last saw any of them – at his father's funeral.  You can't escape the duchy, a voice in his head reminded him.  It sounded like his own voice.

Lost in thought, it took Erwin a minute to realize that the upward-sloping road, while undeniably leading toward Caerith's Seat, no longer bore the telltale signs of recent travel, fallen leaves laying undisturbed before him.  With a frown, he eased his horse to a stop.  Constance had not come this far, unless she suddenly learned how to float.  He glanced back over his shoulder with a sigh and tugged at leather reins to turn his horse around and retrace his own steps.

About fifty paces back down the winding path, it became clear to the Duke that the subject of his search had veered off the main path and down towards a cragged crevice in the rocks.  A puzzled look crossed his features, and he pressed his lips together in mild consternation, but nonetheless urged his steed down that trail.  The light of the setting sun was starting to fade fast, and much of the paths at the base of the stone pillars were cloaked in evening shadow.  Yet, the clues of recent activity were all there: a hoofprint in the dirt here, a cracked tree branch there.

"Constance?" Erwin ventured once he'd traversed some ways down the path. "It's Erwin."  His voice ricocheted off the rocks on one side of him and immediately was swallowed up by the moss and foliage on the other.  From up ahead, the faint sound of a neighing horse cut through the rustling wind.  Cautiously, he rode forward under two great slabs that almost formed a long stone tunnel.  He had to cautiously duck his head several times to avoid slamming it against low-hanging rocks. 

"Constance," he called again.  It seemed almost odd that he had to disturb her solace out here to have a talk.  But that was his fault.  Ever since their betrothal, he'd found every opportunity to 'keep busy' just to avoid the awkwardness of it all.  No, you're just giving her space, he thought, and decided that sounded infinitely better.

Although the sky was beginning to settle into evening, the transition from the dark passageway into the clearing still forced Erwin to blink his eyes several times to adjust.  The first thing he saw was the form of a tall, gaunt man staring at him, dressed in tattered, well-traveled garb.  A vagabond, from the looks of it.

And there, behind the man, stood the future Duchess of Wulfbauer.

"Fuck!" The loud curse escaped Erwin's lips as he instinctively dug his heels into the sides of his horse, and reached his left hand down to his scabbard.

Erwin was trying his best.  Since his first day as Duke, he'd put forth his best efforts to learn the minutiae of running Wulfbauer, particularly with respect to topics such as duchy finances and trade.  But by Ansgar, these things were difficult to grasp!  Standing over the maps laid out across the table in his study this early afternoon, listening as Burrows prattled on about exports and tariffs, about market supply and price drivers, he had to expend all of his willpower just to avoid pulling his graying hair out.  Inwardly, he was almost thankful that part of the discussion involved the mustering and movement of troops still loyal to the Duke – at least he understood those parts.

Mercifully, the discussion started wrapping up (he wondered for a moment if Burrows had just given up on trying to drill economic concepts into head at that point).  As he sat down and rubbed at his tired face with his hands, he only half-listened to the old Master of Coin.  Something about Constance selling her personal possessions.  The words coming out of his mouth might as well have been in Essyrni. "What of it?" he asked through his fingers, his tone anything but condescending.  "Is she not supposed to sell her possessions?  I mean, if they're just going back into the family trust, why is that of any consequence?"  At the mention of the uptick in transactions, Erwin lowered his hands and glanced back up at Burrows with a frown.  "I don't understand.  She's writing it all down, isn't she? Sounds like Constance is doing a fine job of tracking all of this."  Before the Master of Coin could speak any further though, Erwin let out a long sigh and shook his head.  "You know what, it will be easier if you didn't provide an explanation right now.  I'll just go talk to her."

Once Lord Burrows had retired from the study, Erwin rubbed his face again before standing with a grunt.  It was only a short distance, down the hall and around a corner, from his study to Constance's chambers.  Of course, it only made sense for them to continue residing in different rooms since they were not yet wed.  As his boots pattered against the stones, though, Erwin reminded himself that they eventually would have to broach that subject – a conversation he was not looking forward to having.  Instead, in his mind he ran through Lord Burrows' questions about her finances so as not to forget, while secretly hoping that they could have a conversation about just about anything else but money.

A knock on his betrothed's closed door yielded no answer, but that was not uncommon at this hour of the day, with the sun only just starting to set in the horizon.  Most of the Keep's staff gave him conflicting reports about Constance's whereabouts, but eventually he found his way to the stables where the old stablehand, Bairn, gave him the response he sought.  "She had her horse saddled and went for a ride westward, my Duke.  Not quite five or ten minutes ago, actually.  You might be able to catch up to her if you are quick."

Erwin glanced up at the orange-blue sky.  Even though the sun was starting to set, its rays were still bright enough to bask the Keep in a brilliant evening glow, with few obstructing clouds.  Not a bad evening for a ride, he thought to himself.  In fact, he decided a second later, going for a ride was precisely the thing that he needed, after a stressful day of talking nothing but politics and economics with his advisors.  "Have my horse saddled too, then," he responded with a nod to Bairn, who bowed low at his Lord's directive.  Erwin turned to another, younger stablehand and added, "fetch a coat and my sword as well, if you will."  It would feel good to ride with a blade again, just like he did in the army. 

When the preparations were complete, Erwin climbed into the saddle and grabbed up the reins.  The breeze was cool on his skin, and he relished in every long inhale of fresh air in his nostrils as he rode his horse out the Keep's gate and down the westward path, following the fresh set of hoofprints along the dirt.

Erwin pursed his lips together and resisted the urge to glower at her (of course he knew he needed to lighten up!).  Instead, he ran his hand through the disheveled bird's nest of hair on his head and let his expression fall back into its usual cool, stony facade as a footman came to answer the call.  Only after the young soldier had smartly saluted the two and left the study did he glance at Olive and allow himself a long exhale. 

No, he certainly wasn't ready for this.  She probably wasn't either.  But despite his reservations, the small smile on Olive's face – even if it was teasing – brought about an odd sense of comfort in him.  Despite his best efforts, Erwin could not help but crack a slight grin back at her.  Here they stood, about to make a decision that would change the course of both their lives, and possibly the Duchy too.  Having her there made the choice infinitely easier.

"Maybe I could look a bit more presentable," he said, fixing a wrinkled sleeve.  "But I'm ready."

---

It had been an odd evening for Lord Burrows.  He'd not heard from the Duke again once they parted ways in his office, and the old Master of Coin suspected that he had gone riding, or back to the study to pore over his maps and military reports – or any other thing that Erwin might have done to avoid thinking about the sensitive topic of marriage.  And based on the Duke's reaction to his suggestion earlier that day, he had a nagging suspicion that Erwin might also avoid broaching that topic with Constance Carwick.

Speaking of Constance Carwick, she was nowhere to be found.  That was odd these days, because he frequently found her in his candlelit chambers eagerly pestering him with questions about local taxes, or the status of trade agreements and tariffs, or the disposition of her family's wealth.  It was the latter that he'd hope to speak to her about that evening too.  He'd discovered several discrepancies in the accounts after poring through pages of ledgers, nothing so egregious as to have piqued the curiosity of a less astute man, but discrepancies that a sharp accountant like himself would never have missed.  And yet, when he wanted to find her and ask her about them, she might as well have been a ghost.

At an impasse regarding the financial future of Wulfbauer, Burrows instead diverted his energy into reviewing the Duchy's family registries.  If Lady Carwick would not work, then perhaps another nobleman's daughter would have to do.  Carefully, he curated a list of potential suitors, all from families with stable resources that could help bolster the Duke's position – and provide manpower, if it came to that.  His research was neatly laid on his desk in a well-organized pile when the guardsman came to collect him the next morning.

That's why, for all his preparations, the sight of Constance Carwick in that study brought pause to even the normally-unflappable Lord Burrows.  Having lost his words, the old man stood just inside the doorway of the study, his grey brows raised as he slowly turned back to the Duke.

At the sight of Lord Burrows, Erwin cleared his throat, consciously became aware of his heart thumping rapidly in his chest.  Might as well just say it.  "Lord Burrows, we wanted you to be the first to know." The announcement came out in as measured a cadence as he could have hoped for.  He stepped next to Olive.  "I asked Lady Constance for her hand in marriage, to be Duchess of Wulfbauer, and she graciously agreed."   

Erwin glanced sidelong at Olive, as if silently asking for her to confirm.  At the same time, Lord Burrows' eyes also turned slowly to her, his mind processing this unexpected – but not unwelcome – news.  After taking a second to compose himself, he nodded over the pile of now-obsolete papers.  "Ah – a hearty congratulations to you, my Duke, and–"  He bowed his head in Olive's direction.  "and congratulations to you, my Lady.  I am thrilled for you both."  And, inwardly, relieved about the future of Wulfbauer - or at least the near future.

The three of them stood in silence for a brief moment before Lord Burrows spoke up again. "I'll have to consult the Duchy's finances first of course, but we can see to the arrangements for the wedding as soon as possible."

Her ominous words about the future of Connlaoth's children sent a cold chill running down Erwin's body as he stood fully from his chair.  It was a sobering reminder that there was still a war raging out there beyond the walls of Wulfbauer Keep, and more blood would be shed before all of it was over.  Two wars, he had to bitterly remind himself – the Grand Duke's vicious crusade, and the strife brewing here in Wulfbauer itself.  And no child was safe.

His chair looked out of place in the middle of the study, and so Erwin dragged it back to the side of the room, half so he didn't have to look at Olive just then.  A hundred thoughts of the war and politics simultaneously flooding his mind, he failed to notice the rigidity of her voice, steeped in almost resentment.

Having replaced the chair back in its proper place against the far wall (and having spent an unnecessary second making sure that it lined up with all the others), he turned and took four long strides back to where Olive stood.  Prepared to usher her towards the door, he was instead greeted with her outstretched hand.  A look of incredulity crossed his features.  "You'll leave me to it?" he repeated back to her.  "You think I..."

The words died on his lips.  Did she really think that he was sending her away while he conversed with the Master of Coin?! A hot sensation flooded his cheeks as he realized their gross miscommunication.  By Ansgar, they weren't even married yet, and already he was speaking past her. 

His green eyes drifted down for a long moment to Olive's offered hand, then back up to awkward smile plastered across her face.  It was clear she was making light of it, though, so with an almost exasperated exhale, he reached out and grasped her hand.  He indulged her with a single shake, before gently directing her hand back to her side, his fingers lingering for a second wrapped around hers.

"How about we make a better business deal.  We'll go speak with Burrows together – because there is no way in the hells that I am doing that alone.  And I'll do the talking with Grace."  And get yet another glare of suspicion from her, no doubt.  Those had become almost commonplace these days.
   

Mention of the Master of Coin elicited a low laugh from Erwin.  "At least now he'll be relieved that I'm finally listening to him," came his reply.  Her brief answer of acknowledgement, even if not fully confident, finally relaxed his stiff shoulders somewhat.  At least they'd gotten it out of the way, and that was good enough for now. 

He thought on her question briefly, but quickly concluded that he wasn't going to be any surer than at this moment, and it was better to voice his finality before he began doubting himself later.  "Yes it is," he answered, with as much conviction in his voice as he'd had all morning – never mind the fact that it had been Lord Burrows' idea to begin with.  "It's time I cleaned up my own mess.  I'll make sure that the child has a good home and wants for nothing, but enough is enough."

Placing his hands on the edges of his chair, he began pushing himself up to a standing position.  "I suppose he'll want to hear sooner rather than later that I've finally 'come to my senses' about that whole debacle, as he likes to put it."  Pausing, he glanced back down at Olive.  "And about us," he added softly, probing to see if she was as ready (or more aptly, as unready) as him to relay the news of their betrothal.  It all still seemed a bit surreal.

He also gestured with a sidelong glance towards the door.  The next part would have to be her burden.  "Grace probably will want to know too." 

You don't have to bear it alone.

Erwin looked down at her hand placed tenderly over his, feeling her thumb brush against his knuckles.  The soft touch of her fingers and her gentle words brought a strange tranquility to the room.  For a brief second, it almost felt like the world stopped still, as though the weight of the Duchy lifted from his tired shoulders.  At that moment, he would not have traded her assurance for all the gold in Connlaoth.  Finally, after several seconds he slowly nodded his head, mouth firmly pressed together. 

His posture also straightened when she pulled away and sat up.  At her pointed question, he took a deep breath and rubbed his stubbled cheek with a hand.  Uncomfortable as the subject was - and the discomfort rang clearly in Olive's voice - he had to address it now.  The plan had been for the Saranthian thief woman's wounds to be tended to, and when she was ready for the road again, to leave with her child.  But here she was, still holed up somewhere in the castle along with her babe, as if they were honored noble guests.  The sun had not even risen that first night of her return by the time he'd impulsively (or selfishly) bedded her again.  He searched the deepest recesses of his mind and heart for the reason why he'd done it - by god, they could barely stand each other! - but no matter how hard he dug, it always kept circling back to himself. 

What about what you need?  For this to work for you?

Whatever he needed, Erwin decided, that wasn't it.  Perhaps the answer might have been different for his younger, more rash and emotionally impulsive self, to accept both the responsibility of his station as well as the implicit power to do as he pleased.  But even if Olive was right, about all the lords and dukes with their mistresses and bastard children, the idea of a 'mistress' suddenly seemed so contrary to how (or what) a Duke should be. 

Thoughts drifted to his late father, the longtime Lord of Arbutus Vale, and most recently Duke of Wulfbauer.  As far as Erwin knew, Marsden Therrien, stoic and unswerving in his sense of duty to the Duchy, and out of responsibility to his wife Chantal, would never have even dreamed of taking a mistress, no matter the circumstances.  And as far as Erwin knew, his father was the noblest man he'd known.  Sickeningly, he wondered how the apple could have fallen so far from the tree.  He recalled the scant few times when Marsden had privately admonished his son for his loose, womanizing ways, and implored him to live up to the nobility into which he was born.  But the elder Therrien never did so in a denouncing way.  The father did not condone the behavior and would never have violated those ideals himself, but loved his son too much to force him to change either.  And so his son never did.  And that broke Erwin's heart.

Constance had already pledged him support and trust.  Surely neither of them wanted, at that moment, to contemplate the idea of an heir.  So that left the issue of fidelity.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Erwin shook his head resolutely.  If she wanted 'realistic expectations', then he'd have to say the words out loud just to reinforce the notion of what he expected of himself.  "If it's all the same to you, Constance, there will be no need for discretion. I meant what I said last night, about duty and faithfulness."  Or at least fervently hoped he could uphold those words, make the same pledge that she'd reluctantly made to him.  "If we are married, you won't find me in the arms of another woman."

He paused for another moment before continuing.  "She'll be gone from this Keep.  And about the child... Burrows said to send her to Arbutus Vale, and provide for it from afar.  I think... that is the right decision to make."

Erwin didn't bother to stop her as she pushed past him and practically melted into an old armchair.  Instead, after a moment he maneuvered himself to a nearby stone wall, close to the small line of uncomfortable wooden chairs set out for lesser councilmen who visited his study.  He grabbed one and dragged it across from her, sitting leaned forward with hands clasped together. 

As she spoke, he remained silent and attentive, his face stony and pensive.  His expression changed only a few times – first, when his face hardened into a deep frown when she complained about how he had "shown remarkably little interest" in her.  Of course she was being unfair!  He'd been under so much stress these last months, and so much of his attention had been focused on trying to save a duchy from collapsing, it would have been absurd to expect him to find time to make small talk with her. And it's not as though she had ever come to him seeking the same.

Yet, at the same time, the frustration in his eyes betrayed a sullen realization that – once again – she was right.  She'd lived a hundred lifetimes, and experienced horrors that he could not even imagine, even before returning to Wulfbauer a prisoner in her ancestral home.  She had lost so much in this war.  Even then, he'd hardly taken the time to inquire about her well-being, tend to any of her needs, offer to listen to her problems.  He hadn't even mentioned her late parents, even though he knew intimately how big a hole their absence left in her heart. No, he only ever sought her out when he required her counsel.  Some "friend" he was.

And – she was right again – it was less than a day since Erwin tried to argue against old Lord Burrows why he should not ask Constance Carwick to wed him, and then tried to convince her how she could help him consolidate power and rein in the chaos that had befallen Wulfbauer.  Even if he'd somehow managed to convince himself that night of all the other, more personal reasons why it should be her.

These were strange times, and they had a long way to go if this was going to work.  And so he said nothing and just listened as Olive listed her conditions for agreeing to marry him.

Her second bit of information had Erwin sitting up a little straighter in his chair, a curious look crossing his features.  He stared at her, as though her admission of a tryst with one of the stablehands cast an odd, scandalous spotlight on her.  That curiosity quickly faded though, with the awareness that she was a grown woman with her own needs.  As a younger man he himself had snuck into the bedsheets of more than a few chambermaids, to satisfy his own carnal desires. Why would she not meet her own needs in whatever way she chose?

Idly, he wondered which stablehand she was referring to.  There was Tomas, Bairn and his son... and a half dozen whose names who couldn't remember this morning.  Quickly, he decided that it was better not to know the man's identity.  The tenderness in her voice suggested it probably was someone who she could trust to speak her heart to – exactly the person he had not come close to being.  Instead, she was offering to move forward, and he resolved to do the same.

When she finished, he paused for a long moment before given her pensive nod and letting out a soft exhale. "I understand, Constance.  I am the Duke of Wulfbauer, and her responsibility rests on my shoulders.  I'll not place that burden on you.  But I will value whatever counsel you can provide me.  In whatever way."

He glanced down for a second. "As for your stablehand, you'll have no judgement from me, Constance."  By Ansgar, he'd fucked a Saranthian in the middle of all this! At least nobody in the Duchy could blame her for finding solace in the arms of a good wholesome Wulfbauer citizen.  There also was the problem of the child born out of wedlock, with which he had not yet decided to do. "We do not have to speak any further of it, if you wish.  And you have my promise that nobody in this Keep will be replaced."

Her final comment, surprisingly, elicited a suppressed smile and a low laugh from Erwin.  "I'm sure you'll think of a few more once you've had breakfast," he said half-jokingly.  The faint curl in the corners of his mouth quickly faded away though, as he looked back down at his hands, counting the callouses in his palms as he gathered his thoughts.  When he gazed back up at her, his eyes were more solemn, but undeniably appreciative.  "Anything else you need, just say it.  I'll do whatever it takes to make this work for you.  For both of us."

He wrinkled his nose. "Within reason, of course.  I'm not a magician."

Erwin started to approach her when she failed to budge from her spot near the door, but then abruptly froze as the words slipped from her mouth.  The two of them faced each other, both unmoving, caught in an awkward standoff. 

I'll do it.  If it's what you want, I'll do it.

He'd wanted to hear those words since the previous afternoon, but they brought doubt flooding into the back of his mind immediately as they were spoken.  It was almost fortuitous that she hurriedly articulated her thoughts before he could respond.  It gave him a chance to collect his racing thoughts, blink his tired eyes, and let the reality set in.  It was all going to happen.  At that moment, he couldn't decide if he was more unprepared to be the Duke, or to be married.

On several occasions, he almost interjected.  To tell her that he could not have cared less about her family's money, or that he had not proposed in order to keep her under lock and key.  To reassure her that he had no plans to pawn her off to some Lord just to curry favor, something that felt disgustingly like a move that Roland Kenins might happily make. 

Her last words jolted him out of his silence though, and it was his turn to cut her off.  "Constance," he said, looking down with a furrowed brow.  "You're right.  It feels ... forced, all of it.  As I stand here, I don't know if I'm ready for marriage, to be a husband." 

His features tightened into almost a grimace.  With his tired eyes and disheveled hair, he barely looked like he possessed even an ounce of the confidence of a younger, more careless (or uncaring) Erwin Therrien - one that would have gone out of his way to charm some of the eligible young ladies Olive alluded to.  But this was not the time for those frivolities.  It was an entirely different, more serious, situation. And when he looked back up at her, the firmness in his voice grew as he spoke, as if he was convincing himself with each word.

"But it doesn't matter how unsure I feel because I know it must happen.  And all I know is that if I'm to be wed one way or another, I would rather have you.  Maybe you're right, that there's scores of 'nice, sweet, pretty 18-year-olds' out there, just waiting in line for me.  But I'm not trying to take them to the Winter Ball to go dancing, am I?  They don't have your thoughts and opinions or your past, and that's the problem.  They aren't you."

Erwin paused for a moment to think on whether those words had come out of his mouth the way he'd meant it, before letting out a heavy exhale.  "Look, I'm not saying that you're the choice just because of your history or your name, even though they're important too.  But I meant every word I said yesterday, Constance.  You're a friend to me, and I am willing to put all my trust in you." 

His eyes softened as he gestured at her clothes and her well-groomed hair.  Grace really had done an impeccable job making her presentable. "Besides, it's not as if you aren't just as pretty as any of them," he said matter-of-factly.

Erwin stiffened ever so slightly when she turned about around to face him. He'd wanted an answer from her, but now that it appeared to be imminent, a part of him wondered in trepidation if he actually was ready to hear a response.  And worse yet, what if the answer was yes?

And then she brushed past him hurriedly, without so much as allowing him a single word.  He raised a hand after her fleeing figure, but then closed his hand and bit his lip without saying anything more.  He watched her silhouette disappear down the stone steps, leaving him alone on the cold stone walls of the great Keep with just a half-pup at his side and the long shadows of the setting sun.  Gods, you damned fool, he cursed himself in his mind.  What the hell just happened?

By the time a sharp rap sounded against the thick door of Lord Burrows' chambers, the sun had fully set.  The old Master of Coin, bent over the reams of ledgers spread across his desk, lifted his head just in time to see the door swing open and the Duke stride without so much of a greeting.   "I asked her for her hand.  She said she'd sleep on it." A pause.  And then, perhaps anticipating that the old master might interject and remind him that he was the Duke, Erwin held his hands up like he could do no more.  "She said she'd sleep on it." 

---

That night, Erwin's sleep proved equally as fitful as Olive's.  He'd lain in bed for what felt like hours, eyes wandering aimlessly between the dancing embers of the fireplace in his chambers, and the glimpses of moonlight floating in from the stone window to his left.  His thoughts unconsciously drifted back to the previous winter, when would-be assassins almost made him the fifth Duke of Wulfbauer to be slain in a year.  And that had been weeks into his reign – now the Duchy was on the brink of civil war, with Lord Kenins and Ansgar knew how many other Lords preparing to take up arms and storm the Keep by force.

His thwarted assassination, conveniently or not, had coincided with his first encounter with the thief woman who now was still causing much commotion within the castle.  All of his misfortunes really were the result of his own follies, he'd thought bitterly to himself in his sleeplessness.  His mind turned then to Constance, the way the blood had nearly drained from her face up on those ramparts before she'd slipped away.  Perhaps it had been foolish to ask to marry her.  Maybe even she realized that the task of keeping Wulfbauer intact, of undoing Erwin's mistakes, was too great.

When the black of night slowly faded, and the pre-dawn lights of blue and grey began filtering in from the window, the Duke irritably threw the covers aside and arose.  Eyes still blurry from the few moment's he'd slept, he hurriedly changed into the clothes laid out for him before emerging from his chambers.  The castle kitchens were already lively even at this uncommon hour, and it was not difficult for the Duke to find himself some bread and jam before retreating to his study.  At some point, a servant brought him a pot of tea and a clay mug.

Various correspondences and military reports were still laid out across his desk from the day before, along with maps bearing small wooden carvings that marked the locations of various castles, towns, and encampments.  At least this was something with which he was familiar, and he gladly preoccupied himself with their study.  By the time a knock sounded at the study door, he'd almost lost track of the morning hours.

"Come on in," he said, reading the last lines of a letter from one of the minor lords to the south, who had somehow managed to pledge loyalty to the Duke without actually committing anything to his cause. Clearly the man was trying to play the status quo, happy to wait and see which side might gain an advantage before making any weighty decisions.

When finished, he dropped the letter back to his desk and glanced up, fully expecting to see Lord Burrows or another of his council.  Instead, he found Constance Carwick standing across from him as the door shut behind her.  And it was not the same Constance from the day before, or from any other day since she'd returned to Wulfbauer.  No, this Constance, with her impeccably-combed and braided hair and that dress, looked noble and ladylike, moreso than even during the Spring Festival.  As if the castle could have belonged to her.

Realizing he was staring, he cleared his throat and stepped around from his desk.  "Good morning, Constance," he responded, gesturing for her to step away from the door.  "Have you broken fast yet? I have some bread and tea here if that's to your liking,"  he hastily added.

Her words had been barely audible above the soft winds that blew over the ramparts, but their weight landed on Erwin just as hard.  And what about my happiness? For a fleeting moment, he was tempted to say those words out loud.  He'd been perfectly fine commanding troops in the field of battle, reveling with his men like soldiers were meant to do.  He had no need to settle for a wife, no matter her station, his mother's disapproval be damned. 

He didn't ask for any of this.  Not for the Dukeship, not for the Keep.

But he stayed his tongue.  Few in their circles had the luxury of marrying by choice.  The Carwicks certainly knew it.  And his father and mother – they both had known it as well.  Erwin ought to have known it too, as the eldest son of the Lord of Arbutus Vale.  Their house had not survived and thrived for so many generations without sacrifice in the name of duty.

I've chosen already to trust you.  And, in the last months, I have come to think of you as a friend.

At that moment, Erwin was thankful that her back was to him, so that she did not have to see the breath of relief escape his lips, or to see his shoulders straighten out even so slightly.  She'd acted so guarded around him all of these months, that he had begun to have his doubts about whether she could ever trust him.  He'd taken the mantle of Dukeship from her line after all, and no matter how he wanted to frame her presence in Wulfbauer Keep, she really was a prisoner here for better or worse.  If their roles had been reversed, he'd have acted the same. 

"That's why it has to be you, Constance," he said to the back of her head. "Of every single soul in the castle, you're the one I trust the most, maybe the only one I trust – and I say that sincerely.  All those Lords downstairs have every right to doubt me, but I do care about what happens to this dutchy.  And if I'm to have any chance to not muck it all up, I need you there.  I want you there."

And for a moment, he had to pause and reflect on what he was saying.  Lord Burrows had been right in a sense, that she was the most logical choice for his betrothal, both politically and practically.  But Lord Burrows could not have realized just how much Erwin Therrien needed a friend at that moment.

As his eyes locked onto the horizon, Erwin tried to recall the first time he'd climbed the stone steps up onto these walls, seen this view.  He vaguely remembered feeling awestruck: the hearth light of distant homes had gleamed through the morning dew, and a low mist has given the woodlands an almost ethereal beauty.  The din of the castle courtyard was naught but a soft whisper, but the sound of distant crows had rung so clearly in his ears.  But that was the first time.  After so many long months in this castle, having stood on this spot on so many subsequent occasions, his wonder had been replaced by cold familiarity. 

What kind of marriage do you want?  Her words jolted him back to the present, and he also stood back from the ramparts' edge.  A fair question, and one that deserved an honest answer from him – if he could knew how to answer.

"Truth be told," he said, "the marriage I always wanted was one built on love and trust.  Someone to confide in and be confided in." 

He met her gaze for a brief quiet moment, then looked down and took a breath.  And why would those words not be completely unbelievable coming from Erwin Therrien, whose reputation was well-known among both the noble circles and the whispered gossips of Wulfbauer's towns and villages?  He was a handsome and charming man and knew it, and for years had leaned on that bravado even as the women came and went.  Indeed, in years past, he certainly would not have given the wiry, boyish Constance Carwick even a second glance, regardless of her station or the gravitas of her name.

He could almost hear the voices of his father, his mother, even old Lord Burrows, how at some point or another they all tried to convince him to settle down for the sake of duty.  Perhaps he might have held those classically romantic notions as a younger man, that eventually some lass would tie strings around his heart and drive the philandering out of him.  But now, standing before Constance having asked for her hand in marriage, Erwin wondered if he ever believed in those words at all.  He certainly didn't feel ready for marriage.

Love and trust.  They had none of the former.  And he had to wonder, after all of his missteps as Duke – both political and personal – whether there could ever be the latter.

He looked back up at Olive and exhaled.  If she was thinking of the chaos caused by his recent escapades in the Keep, he couldn't blame her.  Everyone was talking about it. 

"I know it takes more than a fairy tale sentiment.  My father used to say that marriages happen out of duty, but marriage is a duty in and of itself.  I'll never be the man he was, but I can try to live up to his ideals.  What I'm trying to say is... I would be dutiful, loyal, and faithful to my wife.  I would be hers as much as she was mine."

He felt dry in the mouth  even as he said it.  As much as he wished it to be true, could he uphold that promise?  Was it even what he wanted?  In the moment, it was hard for Erwin to tell.

Apologies, out of country with spotty internet

Fingerpaintings presents: @Jounin the Almighty Deity

"Nothing is odd to me these days," he replied quietly, stepping up to the spot next to her and leaning his arms against the ramparts.  His eyes slowly scanned the horizon, at the calmness of it all.  Somewhere out beyond the wooded hills, he knew that Roland Kenins and those loyal to him was preparing for a bloody coup. 

Not even a full year as the Duke, and already he'd made a mess of it.

"What would you do?" he asked offhanded, staring out at nothing in particular.  "Out there I mean, with this 'freedom' that you desire? Would you seek quiet peace somewhere?  Would you take up arms again?"

What would he do, if he had that freedom too?  For a moment, he wished that he could also share in her dream of escaping from Wulfbauer, of living as his own man.
The moment passed though, and all he was left with was an emptiness inside.  One that, he supposed, had no cure but to strengthen his resolve and do his duty.

Red's slack-jawed stare followed her back as she began to slowly cut a path through the thicket.  What the hell was she doing?!  This was Kishahn!

With a loud whoop he bound to his feet and pulled that sweaty, itchy shirt over his head.  It caught on his chin for just a brief moment before sliding loose, leaving him with nothing but trousers and that stupid red scarf dangling from his neck.  Stuffing half of the shirt into the band of his pants like some sort of towel, he strode toward the nearest vine-covered tree and -- with almost a practiced ease -- scaled twenty feet up its thick trunk.

"If it's the dark you're worried about, why go forward?" he called out to her.  "When we can go UP?  You've been here before, surely you can climb!"

The chilly gusts of wind that danced across the ramparts also helped to clear Erwin's head, oddly enough.  Far below, a small regiment of castle guards went through their daily drills in the muddy bailey while the stablemaster Bairn led a pair of horses toward wooden stalls to be groomed.  Beyond the walls, wisps of smoke rose in the distance from the town of Wulfbauer, an indication that life -- or at least some semblance of it -- went on.

He was glad she'd brought the two of them out there.  After all, a man always operated better under a clear sky, with fresh air in his lungs.  Though the heavy grey clouds above cast a dull, gloomy light down upon the castle, it was better than nothing. 

When she asked that inevitable question, he took in a deep breath of that fresh air, of the scent of pine from the nearby wooded hills.  And then he shook his head. "No, you would not," he replied truthfully and with little hesitation.  There was no use in dancing around the subject anymore.  "There's too much at stake in this duchy for you to just 'disappear' all over again.  If the order to keep you here does not come from me, then perhaps from Lord Burrows or the others left on the council.  More likely, some minor lord will decide to take you for a wife so that he can tie his House to your ancestral name and secure a rise in the social ranks.  In either case, I... I doubt you'll be able to just 'walk out these doors'." 

Hopefully his words did not bite too deeply, but why shy away from the truth of it?  The look on her face almost suggested that she wanted him to respond as he did, just so that she could say that she'd been right all along, and that his proposal of marriage had been just as they'd both known: a political sham.  And a part of him felt almost guilty thinking that.  Was his offer that much worse than any of her realistic alternatives?  At that moment, Erwin could not answer that question.

At least someone out here is enjoying themselves though, he thought as he watched Kipper bounce around excitedly at everything new out here before burying his snout into a pile of dirty old snow.

The heavy gusts of wind and the searing cold made the uphill trek that much more treacherous, and Aryn found himself struggling to find balance with his missing arm as they pressed through the mountain path.  When Kella let out a bloodcurdling scream and clutched onto him for dear life, he nearly lost his footing as well.  Thankfully the ice underneath did not send the both of them tumbling back down the mountainside, and he could only turn and stare at Kella, teeth chattering -- until the arrow plunged into the hill right between their heads.

Taken aback, it was Aryn's turn to let out a scream.  "That almost hit us, you fuckers!"

Almost immediately he regretted it as the archer shouted something indistinguishable back at them.  And then more arrows began falling all around them as other soldiers joined in the chase.