Argrave stared at the Margrave beside his wyvern. Reinhardt did not advance or retreat, merely stared at them with an indiscernible expression, one hand on the pommel of the sword at his belt, and the other on the horn of his wyvern.
“Couldn’t have spotted him, Galamon?” Argrave whispered to his companion.
“There was a wall,” Galamon noted. “And you gave no time to scout. Not even with that bird.”
Argrave ground his hands together. “I know. I just want to complain.”
“That’s the patriarch of House Parbon?” Durran asked, some excitement on his tone.
“He is remaining by his wyvern in case he needs to retreat, I suspect,” Anneliese noted, ignoring Durran’s query.
“Alright, alright,” Argrave finally turned. “Nobody do a damn thing. Just stay still.” After giving that command, Argrave let out some curses. “Alright. God damn it all.”
Argrave took a step ahead, and breathed deeply, trying his best to appear confident. “The three of you will wait here. I’ll go alone, resolve things. I’m sure he won’t be spooked by that.”
“That is dangerous,” Anneliese protested.
“I’ll be fine. I got away from him once before unscathed, and I can do it again if need be.” Argrave walked away.
“Argrave…” Anneliese called out once again, and he heard her step forward.
Argrave turned and held both his hands out, palms facing her. “I’ll be fine.”
She stared, and then nodded. “Be careful,” she cautioned, not entirely satisfied by his assurance.
With a wink, he turned back to the Margrave and his wyvern. Though he walked confidently and kept his expression firm, his Brumesingers writhed within his clothing, mirroring his own anxiety. He kept his hands in plain sight, and far away from any pockets within his gray leather duster. Though the Margrave did not lower his hand from the sword at his belt, he did not flee or brace himself.
Argrave came to stand across from Margrave Reinhardt. He kept a fairly large distance between them, but he was close enough to hear the wyvern’s breathing. The Margrave glared up at him with his ruby eyes, expression inscrutable.
“Hi,” Argrave repeated his earlier greeting.
“Argrave,” Reinhardt finally said. “Barely recognized you.”
Argrave brushed one hand through his hair. Certainly, he was tanner, his hair was longer, and his eyes were much, much different. “Hopefully the change is positive.”
“What is this?” the Margrave questioned with a growl. “An ambush? A secret meeting? Intimidation?”
“Nothing like that,” Argrave quickly shook his head, and then rubbed his cheek with one hand. “If you want me to be honest… we thought you wouldn’t be here.”
Reinhardt clenched his wyvern’s horns tighter, showing possessiveness. “You thought to take from me once again, did you?”
“Forget that. If I wanted a wyvern so desperately, my friend back there could provide,” Argrave pointed back. “He’s from one of the southern tribes. Son of a chieftain, actually. And yes, you’re not mishearing things,” Argrave continued, falling into his practiced suave rhythm. “He’s from the southern tribes. Meaning I’ve been in the Burnt Desert these past… well, it’s been a while. Two months, maybe more.”
The Margrave frowned, but Argrave pressed on. “There was something I very desperately needed in the Burnt Desert. You can see it right now—don’t touch, though,” Argrave cautioned, pointing to his eyes. It wasn’t the full truth, but it was the easiest example to use in this conversation. “I came to get these eyes, among other things. It’s a very long story, and I won’t bore you with it. But!” Argrave raised a finger. “I had to get back to Vasquer. And passing through that big gate beneath the Lionsun Wall—something tells me that would never, ever happen. So, I just wanted to sneak through here. I am sorry about the wall, though,” Argrave clasped his hands together and looked back. “A tragic necessity. I can pay you back,” he added positively.
The Margrave didn’t seem swayed by Argrave’s assurances. He digested Argrave’s words in silence, ruby eyes retaining their cold glare. Eventually, his head shifted in revelation, and he questioned, “How did you get to the Burnt Desert in the first place?”
“I passed beneath the earth. I travelled the Low Way of the Rose,” Argrave answered quickly, anticipating the question. He let his answer hang in the air, even though he already knew what he was going to say next.
The Margrave furrowed his brows, glancing Argrave up and down. The second he opened his mouth to say more, Argrave cut in, “If you’d like, you can confirm with the Stonepetal Sentinels that I travelled through there a little while ago. While we didn’t part on the best of terms, I’m certain you can at least confirm I passed through there.”
The Margrave scanned Argrave’s face, perhaps trying to discern if he was honest.
“Would take two days at best to send someone to and from the entrance to the Low Way of the Rose,” Argrave continued. “While I wouldn’t care for it, if it can abate your worries about me, I can stay here.”
And gather information, Argrave left those words unspoken. As far as he knew, Stain was here, and he was certain the man would be abreast of most happenings throughout Vasquer. He could learn news of the plague, of Princess Elenore, and of any other unusual happenings that might affect the way in which things played out.
Argrave had learned from repeated personal experience that things would probably be far removed from what he knew usually happened. He needed to find out how much things had deviated and adjust his plans accordingly, per Anneliese’s advice. And she was right. Slowing down to do things deliberately would always be better, even if it wasn’t optimal. Though he’d planned to gather information at Jast, Parbon could fill that role splendidly.
“Even if you were at the Low Way, that doesn’t mean what you’ve explained here is true,” Reinhardt refuted.
Argrave held his hands out. “I helped Elias, didn’t I? I secured that betrothal with Jast, helped your whole house. Is that worth nothing?”
“And my daughter. Did you help her, too?” the Margrave said, dead-eyed stare returning.
Argrave’s face fell. That wasn’t the sort of thing he had a response ready for. A father who loved his children would never forget that someone had crippled her.
“I am… sorry, you know,” Argrave said quietly, keeping his gaze locked with Reinhardt’s.
He heard the Margrave’s gauntlets creak as he clenched the pommel of the sword on his belt tighter. “You always maintained it was an accident.”
Argrave felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he answered, “That doesn’t change the fact that it was my fault. I cannot change what I’ve done. All I have is my words. So, I reiterate—I apologize.” He lowered his head in a bow, but kept his eyes locked with Reinhardt’s. “And if your daughter is willing to accept it, I would extend my apology to her, personally. But if she cannot bear the sight of me, I will respect that.”
Margrave Reinhardt held Argrave’s gaze, pupils trembling. His grip tightened on his sword’s pommel further, and then relaxed. He raised the hand to his forehead and caressed it.
“I come here to dispel my headache, think clearer. Yet even here, you…” he took his hand off his forehead and clenched it into a fist. “You have done right by my house, and I wronged you in the past by… unjustly seizing you. Your companions. They will be staying with you?”
Argrave brightened. “Yes, they will,” he confirmed happily.
“I will not make the same mistakes as last time, however. You, and all of yours, will be heavily guarded and watched.” Reinhardt’s gaze wandered to his companions. “…and that tunnel. How…?”
Argrave nodded without protest. “Thank you for giving me a chance, Margrave Reinhardt. I’m eager to talk to Stain and Elias once more.”
The Margrave studied his face when he mentioned Stain and Elias. Argrave was perplexed for a moment before the Margrave said bitterly, “My son isn’t here. Nor is Veladrien… or as you call him, Stain. But I’ve been in contact with him through Helmuth. Things…” the Margrave trailed off.
Argrave raised a brow curiously.
#####
Though Argrave had only spoken to the Margrave for fifteen minutes or so before he and his companions were taken away to where they would be residing, what he learned was harrowing. The plague, which Argrave had been certain would remain in the northwest, was ravaging the south at an alarming rate. Elias and Stain were locked in in a siege caused by a revolt at Elbraille, where the plague ran especially rampant. The Margrave seemed to have more information to divulge, but they were led to their rooms to rest before more could be asked.
“Things keep getting further and further out of place, Anneliese…” he whispered, sitting beside Anneliese as she rested in bed. He hunched over his knees, staring at the floor.
“We thought they might,” she pointed out as she stared up at the ceiling.
“A lot of my confidence…” Argrave lifted up his head and looked at her. “…comes from knowing what’s going to happen.”
Anneliese poked his ribs, and he flinched in surprise. “Does it? I am skeptical.”
“Well, it’s—” Argrave paused. “Forget about that. Are you alright?”
“I am fine,” she shook her head at once.
“Come on,” he insisted. “There has to be something bothering you.”
“Why must something bother me?” she questioned.
“Doesn’t feel right, constantly talking about my doubts, my problems,” Argrave shook his head. “I want to help you. I don’t want to lean on you for every nuisance that surfaces in my head.”
“I am older than you,” she pointed out. “I have had more time to settle myself.”
“Only a few years. Not sure any amount of age can prepare you to handle what we’ve been doing,” Argrave said skeptically, then laid down beside Anneliese. She moved over to accommodate him. “I just want to be someone you can rely on, that’s all.”
“I do rely on you. More than you realize, evidently,” she rebutted.
“How?” Argrave stared at the ceiling.
“I have always been looking for something to herald. A cause, an ideal… something to be a part of. Something to belong in. I never belonged anywhere,” she held her hand up in the air. “I thought Veiden was becoming that, ever so slowly. It was a nation—even an empire—to build, surrounded by people I respected who might respect me in turn. I just needed to prove myself.”
“Do you miss it?” Argrave questioned, though he was afraid of the answer.
“I was getting to that,” she lowered her hand. “Maybe I could have built a life there. From what you say of the ‘me’ in your world… it seems I did, once. I cannot speak to my happiness there, of course, nor even of its veracity.”
She moved closer and placed her hand on his chest, and he turned to look at her.
“But I have found something to herald. Your cause, fighting against Gerechtigkeit. And I feel like I am where I belong, now.”
Argrave stayed silent, putting his hand atop her own. After a time, he said, “Let’s see if you sing that same tune when we’re fifty feet underground in a cavern of bugs again.”
She laughed, disturbing the quiet of their stone room in the Lionsun Castle.
Argrave turned back towards the ceiling, finally feeling a bit tired. “Now that I know what I do… I feel like I need to rush out, head to the northwest, join up with Orion, and tackle this damned plague immediately. Gerechtigkeit must be cackling at what I have done.”
“Patience,” she urged. “Rushing things will do much more harm than good. You will fail if you rush.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “And… as much as I wish to help Elias… it’s difficult to accept that I just have to leave him, trapped in a siege.”
“Margrave Reinhardt said he offered to rescue his son, but Elias refused,” Anneliese pointed out soundly. “Elias himself does not wish to be removed from the situation.”
“Not sure if I’ll accept that explanation if he dies because of Vasquer’s scheme,” Argrave looked to Anneliese.
Unlike all his other worries, she offered no answer.
