Wulfbauer Catching Fire

[Cambie]

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

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

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

[pomelo]

At Erwin's argument that a drink of the castor oil would only end with him spending the entire night alone in the privy, Olive simply shrugged to say that that sounded rather like an Erwin problem. Nothing to do with her. It was, of course, a nonchalance that came with what had been a thoroughly unserious suggestion.  On what was turning out to be the most serious and unserious night of her life. Their current misadventures almost put out of mind all the very serious indeed things that had transpired earlier in the day.

Perhaps buoyed by that fact, Olive did not do the reasonable thing and laugh off Erwin's challenge, did not suggest they call it a truce and find the most inconspicuous route out of the attic. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at his finger pointing and his doubling down on his initial threat. Well, very well, then. He was asking for it.

In a flash, Olive flung the bottle hard onto the floor at Erwin's feet where it shattered on impact, pale yellow oil and clay shards ricocheting off the stone floor and splattering loudly between Erwin and Olive. She didn't wait for the shattered pot shards to hit the floor before she sprang away, dashing down the dark attic hallway, leaving a slick, spreading pool between Erwin and where Olive stood.

Sprinting down the hall, Olive threw herself sharply to the right, disappearing into the same little storage cell where she'd found the castor oil. It wasn't the only thing in here. Searching as quickly as she could in the dim light, she grabbed a squat clay pot stoppered with a broad cork lid. Scratched into the clay was the label: Talcum Powder. She threw aside the cork lid and, knowing Erwin would likely be close behind her, pressed her body into the shadows lurking around the small door to the cell. Ready to empty the pot's contents as soon as Erwin arrived.

[Cambie]

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

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

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

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

[pomelo]

The sound of Erwin’s coughs were drowned out by barely controlled fits of laughter from Olive. She had to clasp a hand to her face to keep from snorting at the sight of him. Talcum could make enough of a mess at the best of times, but combined with the oil, it stuck as a thick white paste to Erwin and a fine dusting where he was still dry. Even his salt and pepper hair was now white. The sight of him – the serious stoic military man, the suave womanizer, even the weary duke – like this was just too much. Olive’s ribs ached half-stifled laughter.

”I think we found your cover,” she managed to get out, still talking through the hand clasped over her mouth. ”Everyone’s had enough to drink that I think if anyone saw you in the corridors now, they’d swear they saw a ghost!”

Her words, though not terribly funny in and of themselves, set her into another fit of laughter. It was mixed now not just with the objective hilarity of Erwin’s current state, but with the abject absurdity of the day. Of the entire situation. Here they were, behaving like children, like they never had – not together – in their youth. As though it were all a game. And it was, in a way. And it wasn’t. And maybe part of her laughed now because, despite the surrealness and the seriousness of it all, it just felt good to laugh for a change.

Finally pulling herself together enough to feel a bit sorry for the coughing, wheezing Erwin, she stepped forward and reached an arm out to steady him. Then she wet her thumb on her tongue and carefully wiped away the powder from around his eyes, and then from his mouth. She paused, her thumb lingering on his lips. The laughter had left her feeling light and almost, for a moment, carefree. Buoyed and perhaps emboldened by the levity of the moment, she lifted herself up on her toes to close the distance between them and kissed him.

[Cambie]

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

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

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

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

[pomelo]

Aware of the sudden stiffness on his posture, Olive thought she perhaps she ought to apologise. Tell him what they both knew, anyway, that someone had to do it eventually. Erwin after all, and much to Olive’s initial surprise, had been the one to say he wanted a proper marriage, not one of mere political convenience. (Though some of her skepticism about that remained, even if she believed Erwin believed it.) And if it was a boundary they would have to cross eventually, Olive would rather it be her who pushed them over that line. She hated the idea of being the bashful, demure, and passive bride. If she wanted to keep hold of it, she knew she would have to exert her own agency every chance she got. Why should this be an exception?

Of course, that made it all sound much more calculating than it had been. To her own surprise, in that moment of playful and competitive teasing, it had felt natural. With anyone else, it would have been the natural escalation. With Erwin it was somehow different, both because he was Erwin Therrien and because he was now her husband. But any opening that felt less stilted or less forced seemed like one to take advantage of. However, his initial response, that tension, even if he didn’t break her kiss immediately, made her wonder if perhaps she’d misjudged the moment, or overstepped the boundaries of their fragile friendship.

So it was her turn to be surprised when he pulled her to him and roughly kissed her. Her first thought, now that she was pressed against him, was that he felt very gross. The oily paste coating his shirtsleeves was cold, slimy, and somewhat irritating against the bare skin of her arms and shoulders. But then her arms were around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, and despite herself (or was it?) she felt herself grow flush. It was as if committing to this moment might purge some of the tension and awkwardness that had grown between them since Erwin first, under great duress, proposed.

After what felt like an extremely long moment, or maybe two, Olive broke away from the kiss without pulling away from him. She looked up at him, her palms pressed still against the slick, oily back of his neck, her expression overly-earnest. ”I still think the ‘ghost strategy’ is our best bet for getting you out of here.” She only just managed to keep a mask of faux-seriousness shrouding her obvious mirth. ”There’s still a few more jars. We can make it a bit more convincing.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, ”You are really extremely gross right now, by the way. Maybe more of a ghoul than a ghost, now that I think about it.”

[Cambie]

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

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

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

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

[pomelo]

"My fault?" Olive retorted with a snort of laughter. "I'll just shove you back in that shaft then, shall I? I told you that you wouldn't fi-" but her defense and the chortle of laughter accompanying it was cut off when Erwin pulled her tight against his oily, pasty chest. "That was completely uncalled for," she grumbled, slightly muffled as she was smushed against him.

When he released her, she stepped away enough to try to brush off whatever paste and, worse, oil had transferred onto her. "I don't know if I'm getting rid of any of it, or just spreading it around..." She shot him a baleful glare, full of mischief, that threatened for a moment to grab another jar and strike again. But it was only a fleeting mask for her profound amusement at the situation. When she did reach out, it wasn't to retaliate, but to start to unbutton his now thoroughly disgusting shirt. She did this matter-of-factly; nonetheless, she felt much more aware of doing it than she might have even half an hour earlier. It elicited a feeling in her stomach now she wasn't quite sure how she felt about. She pulled a face, grimacing, at the sound when she pulled the oil-soaked shirt off of him and when she threw it to the ground it landed with a distinct splat. "I don't think that was doing anyone any good anymore." She watched the shirt where it lay, as though it might jump up and smother her, then gestured out of the little store room. "Come on."

She led Erwin down the long attic hall, unfortunately passing back through the now fairly large puddle of castor oil. Olive tip-toed through it, careful to also avoid the shards of broken pottery. Past the opening they'd first come through, to the far side of the narrow passageway. Here it didn't join another corridor, but turned around a little corner and narrowed into what would very aptly be called a crawl space. Olive stooped down into cramped space and, after a few meters, pushed aside a musty, tattered old tapestry. The crawl space opened up into a small nook that bore the distinct impression of a childhood and adolescent hideout. The space could only be described as cluttered. Several haphazard stacks of books on a wide variety of topics, taken at some untold earlier date and never returned to their library of origin. Some, Olive knew with a small feeling of guilt, belonged to the university in Uthlyn. An old, worn celestial globe bore constellation names in some obscure and little known script. Next to it a small brass telescope that almost certainly should have been better housed. Scattered letters, sketches, what looked like drafts of essays, and some esoteric set of cards littered the little space. Atop a simple straw mat was a nest of blankets made of heavy wool or faded old quilts (one, in fact, bore the genealogy of the Carwicks up to Olive's grandfather). In the corner a longbow and a quiver of old arrows were stashed next to a spear that looked suspiciously like it belonged with one of the suits of armor in the great hall. Much of the assorted mess had a thick layer of dust on it, but some things showed signs of more recent habitation. There was a small round window in the far wall. Olive glanced at the stub of candle left on its sill and, momentarily, to the stables below. As children, and then again in the last months, lighting that candle had been a signal to Valerian to sneak out and meet her up here. She felt a small chill but pushed the thoughts away.

Instead, Olive turned to Erwin and offered a little shrug. "At least we can hide out for awhile until our lovely guests are more likely to have gone to bed. And any remaining will be too drunk to see straight." Those last words gave her pause and she suddenly looked around. "Speaking of, somewhere here..." She didn't finish the thought, instead she started feeling around the wooden planks of the wall until she found the loose one that wobbled under her touch. Carefully pulling it back, Olive reached into a dark little crevice of the wall and pulled out a half-empty bottle of amber liquid. Even Erwin might recognize it as an extremely prized and rare spirit. A treat even for a duke. "Gosh, I stole this from my dad years ago," she said, blowing the dust off the bottle and carefully uncorking it. She sniffed it gingerly, but her initial hesitance melted away into a bright smile. She reached back in and produced two small, jewel-encrusted glasses (almost certainly also out of place) and awkwardly balanced them in the crook of her arm while pouring with her other hand. "Well, since you proposed a drink anyway. This ought to still be better than whatever Marcel foisted on you."

[Cambie]

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

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

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

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

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

Well, it was a special occasion.

[pomelo]

Olive looked up just in time to see Erwin’s quizzical look regarding the spear. Tucked away in the corner, she’d almost forgot it was there. In response, she offered an awkward shrug and she tried to balance the bottle and two glasses. ”One of the stableboys and I decided we were going to run away and slay ogres. I thought it was prudent to practice a bit first. Let’s just say a lot of the sacks of grain storage ended up with mysterious holes. It’s amazing what you get away with when you’re an only child.” Of a duke. But she left that part out. ”But in my defense, I was just a kid.” She didn’t dwell on whether or not it would be any comfort to think of a child running around with a dangerous weapon as opposed to a teenager who still believes she can become an ogre hunter. But somehow she still wanted to set the record straight.

Carefully, Olive set the bottle down on one of the stacks of books while balancing the two now half-full glasses. ”Well, I’m not going to force you, but it was your idea,” she told him as she handed one of the glasses to Erwin. Though not large, it was heavy for its size, made of a clear crystal and adorned what looked like actual gems in reds and oranges forming distinct patterns. Once Erwin had his glass, Olive raised hers to her nose to smell its complex, peaty aroma and was hit by a wave of nostalgia. She remembered her father drinking this in his study, letting her try just a bit when she was a teenager. The peaty smell of the spirit mixed with the smell of the fireplace. For a moment, she was transported back into that happier past, when her familial home was full of just that: her family. And the worst thing she had to face was common prejudice, which felt daunting then but seemed almost quaint now.

As the heaviness of it set in on her, she looked back up and saw Erwin, and decided she didn’t want to think about the past right now. Moving a step closer to him, she extended her glass. ”To the end of a very, very long day.” She paused, then added, ”Well, I suppose we still have to get ourselves out of this situation, back to your actual quarters and, well, clean. So, I guess, to a breather during this very, very long day.”

[Cambie]

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

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

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

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

[pomelo]

Olive's eyes widened in surprise – and maybe a touch of amusement – pausing in the middle of taking a careful sip of the rare spirit. Did he really just knock the whole thing back? She couldn't help a little snort of laughter. One of the lessons her father had made sure to teach her (another one her mother had not approved of a teenage girl being instructed in) was never to drink a proper spirit as like, in his own words, "backwoods tavern moonshine." But what came next made up for his mistreatment of such a prized, rare spirit. Olive openly guffawed at the terrible sequence of faces Erwin pulled as he forced down the drink. "You look worse than if that had been castor oil," she laughed, tears in her eyes. "Did you make the same face in front of all those people downstairs? I mean, I guess they can't depose you just because of that, but if they – "

But before Olive could finish, Erwin stepped forward and her teasing faltered as he crossed into her personal space. There was still a mirthfulness in the way she returned his kiss, though, reaching one hand up to the base of his neck while the other carefully holding onto her mostly full glass in the other. If someone had told her this morning that the day would take this turn, she would not have believed them for a moment. But the rest of the day felt a world away now. Like it had all been someone else's life. Certainly not hers. The present moment, the warmth of the spirit in her chest and of Erwin's bare skin, felt utterly divorced from those events. As if the two realities couldn't co-exist. Right now Olive wasn't sure which felt more surreal, but she knew which she preferred.

She broke the contact with a quiet "Wait," and she took another sip of the amber spirit before carefully moving to place the bejeweled glass next to its twin and the bottle on the stack of dusty old books. She hesitated for a moment, frowning at the precariousness of the ersatz drinks table, then decided to move the lot of them onto the floor. The delay only added to the energy she brought back to Erwin, hands on his bare shoulders as she pulled herself against him and pulled him into another kiss. Without breaking it, she did her best to leverage her comparatively small stature to steer them both towards the haphazard pile of blankets and the straw mattress.

[Cambie]

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

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

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

[pomelo]

Olive’s body arched into Erwin’s touch, her hands finding their way up to bury her fingers in his hair. At Erwin’s deft disrobing of her, Olive couldn’t help but smirk. A little too deft, she thought, and spared one moment to shoot him an amused look that seemed to ask, Does that normally impress? But it was soon washed away by the urgency of the moment, and her hands moved down to move his own aside, undoing the fastenings of his trousers herself. Once he was free of them, she pushed him into a semi-controlled fall back onto the simple straw mattress, landing straddling atop of him. Hands pinning down of his wrists, Olive smirked down at him and teased, ”Now is the point where I reveal I’ve been a devious rebel mage all along, just waiting to have the Duke of Wulfbauer at my mercy.”

She gave him no time to respond to the jest before swooping in to kiss him, deeply and demandingly. It was thrilling to just not think – about the war, about her duty, about the trouble in Wulfbauer, not even in this moment about their marriage – just to act and to feel. And this felt strangely, and exhilaratingly cathartic. After weeks of walking on eggshells around each other as the awkward tension anticipating the inevitability of this moment sat obstinately between them. But this felt far from the moment she dreaded. This felt almost illicit, and exhilarating. She pressed herself against him, his bare skin now hot against her own, and shifted to press herself against his sex. She was so desperate to be lost in this moment that she almost didn’t hear it.

A soft rapping against the glass window. Tak tak tak. Sure she was imagining it, she pressed herself harder into Erwin, not wanting to leave the heat of this one, singular moment to return to cold reality.Tak tak tak. Olive paused and although she was panting, she lifted her head up and went suddenly still. Listening. Tak tak tak. ”Wait here.” Then slowly, and reluctantly, she disentangled herself from Erwin and rose to her feet, tentatively crossing the few steps over to the small round window. She saw it even before she undid the window’s creaky old hatch and quietly pulled it open. A magpie, the night light shimmering off its black and white feathers. With the window cracked open, noise from the celebration below could still be heard. Music and laughter and drunken people talking far too loudly. But her eyes were only on the bird. Its small dark eyes returned her gaze, then it opened its beak and a small, speck of light – almost imperceptible – glided out of its mouth and into Olive’s outstretched hand. She stared down at it for a moment, then raised it to her ear.

Nothing happened. She clasped her hand tighter against her ear, cupped around the little floating speck of light. But nothing. Slowly, she drew her hand back down and stared down at it, troubled. Then she looked at Erwin and understood. Moving carefully with the little speck still hovering in her palm, its light gently pulsating, she made her way back to Erwin, kneeling down next to him. ”I think it’s meant for you,” she said plainly, her quiet voice betraying a flicker of annoyance. Then, without further explanation, she held it up to Erwin's ear, her hand cupped around it with the little mote of light in the space between.

At first, there was nothing. Then Erwin would be able to hear what sounded like the crackling of a blaze and a man’s ragged breath. He would hear them as the he, himself, were there. And when finally a voice spoke, it was one Erwin had heard only weeks ago. The mage he’d nearly beheaded in the Maze. Silas.

”Duke Therrien, I trust Olive will convey this to you. Roland Kenins has taken the occasion of your wedding and the absence of the lords loyal to you on their own land to move his troops across southeastern Wulfbauer.  My eyes in the air report his men have occupied all the land from Turgal to the River Aeling. Nearly a quarter of your lands. Where they meet resistance, homes and harvests are being burned. I am watching it with my own eyes this very moment. This message should reach you at least a day before word would arrive by horse. You must use the time to act swiftly. Act now.”

[Cambie]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pomelo]

Kennins had moved his troops to the Aeling. They were burning the countryside as they went. Olive felt a rising anger in her stomach – but not only directed and Kenins and his men. How could they have been so stupid? Scratch that, selfish? Erwin and Constance both had become so absorbed in their own lives, spent so much time feeling bad for themselves about the necessity of marriage, that the had taken their eyes off target. Kenins. Of course he would make a move now. How had she not expected that?

Olive gazed down for a moment at her now empty palm, allowing herself a moment of unease that Silas had sent that message for Erwin’s ears, not her own. Was it a show of solidarity with the duke? Or did he not trust her not to do something rash? Rash or not, Olive’s head was already buzzing with reactive ideas. The should destroy the bridge across the Aeling, trap Kenins men. Silent figures skulking in the dark, sabotaging their supplies, poisoning their water, setting fire to barracks in the night, moved like shadows in her mind. No, she heard her own voice in her mind. No, those tactics can’t work here, now, against her own people. They can’t destroy bridges, roads. And another knowledge lurked deeper than that, that she wouldn’t be doing any of it. She might have been a rebel fighter once. She might have done all of those things. But now that she was back in this world, she was back to being confined as a woman. As a duchess.

She was snapped out of her reverie by Erwin jumping up and announcing his intention to march back downstairs. ”Wait a moment!” she snapped. ”You can’t march downstairs like that,” she waved at his half-naked, dirty, oily body, ”saying that your known rival is moving troops across the countryside. People will thing you’re drunk, or mad. Or worse they’ll demand to know how you know. And what will you say then? That now that you’ve married a witch, you get secret messages from mages out roving the countryside? That a little bird told you? We have to stop and think for a moment.”

Olive wrapped one of the blankets around herself, thinking. Something didn’t seem quite right about it. ”Why would Kenins burn the countryside? I don’t understand that. His tactic has always been making himself look like the more stable, reliable alternative to you. Unless,” her brow furrowed as an idea came to her. ”If I were Kenins… I would have mercenaries attack farms and fields. Make them look like raiders, or mages, or both. Then use that as an excuse to move my troops across the region, to secure it. And decry the duke’s inability to protect his own land. Say he’s too busy throwing a party while his lords’ lands burn.”

[Cambie]

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

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

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

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

[pomelo]

Marcel Therrien was having an excellent time. It turned out that it wasn't so bad being the eldest unmarried brother of a duke. He had taken genuine delight in watching the discomfort of his Very Serious Older Brother as he squirmed in the spotlight. But now that Erwin had been whisked away to see to his marital duties, it was Marcel's turn to shine. Every eligible young lady of Wulfbauer was being paraded in front of him. He was the first choice; the most eligible bachelor in attendance. Sure, barring a family tragedy, he'd never be a lord of his own land, but who didn't want to get closer to the Duke? Some men in his position, he knew, might complain, but Marcel was thoroughly enjoying the attention. With so many mothers vying for him to grace their daughters with a dance, there was no expectation he'd be able to spend more than one dance or glass of wine with any of them. What an excuse to flirt his way through the night without having to lift a finger! He was, in fact, just about to lead the very attractive – and, he'd heard rumor, not entirely ladylike – Lady Bronwyn Braedyn onto the dance floor when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

A very shifty looking servant was there, looking so awkward and uncomfortable that Marcel thought he was about to tip Marcel off that he'd sat in something unpleasant or else something else terribly embarrassing. And the look the footman gave him made it clear he wished to deliver his message away from the ears of the fair, young Lady Bronwyn. Giving ample apology and promising to find her again straight away, Marcel stepped side with the anxious servant.

"The Duke, er, m'lord, requests your presence," the man said, keenly avoiding making eye contact with Marcel while he did.

"The Duke? My presence? You must be joking. I'm quite sure my brother knows what he's – " but the earnest look of the young servant stopped Marcel from elaborating. "Now?"

"Right away, m'lord."

So it was that Marcel found himself being escorted up the stairs to his brother's bedroom on his wedding night. Maybe, he thought idly, fingering the bottle of strong wine he'd snatched on his way up here, Kristian's suspicion was right and Constance had turned out to be an evil witch, after all. Turned poor Erwin into a frog... But when the servant gingerly opened the door to allow Marcel to enter and then promptly scampered away, he found a much stranger scene before him...

There was his ever-serious, ever-stoic elder brother, the famed general, Captain Serious, the Duke of Wulbauer, stark naked sitting in the middle of a large, soapy tub. But at least he was clean! Constance, on the other hand, looked like she'd really been through the ringer. Disheveled and covered in grime with a skinned knee, she sat perched lightly in a window sill, wearing Erwin's blue-grey doublet thrown over what might have once been a white silken slip, but he was pretty sure was covered in soot? And the faces on them – you'd think the pair had come straight from a funeral!

Marcel's mouth opened and closed several times, but before he could find words the doors flew open and slammed shut again. "What the devil is all this about? demanded Kristian Therrien.