---

Well, she certainly hadn't yelled at him or threatened him with guards, and for some strange reason, that amused him greatly. Perhaps it wasn't quite a good idea to give a potential enemy the inner machinations of a mind that was hard wired to destroy those around them. One that was just as quickly working in the schemes of the opposite. While he very highly doubted such sentiments would be well received, he loathed the treatment of fragile humanity, now caged on both sides. Within Vufrien and in face of the king's unforeseen negligence, they risked starvation. On the other hand, returning to Crue Efros gave rise to the worry of becoming enslaved and worse. He was among the very few that gave them any semblance of freedom, a thin veil of protection all he could offer without outright opposing his own orders. A world wherein quick deaths were a grave mercy. Even then, he could not be everywhere at once, regrettably.

”Then it seems hell with reign,” there came her first response, uncertainty tacked with each word. ”I do agree the waiting, the lavish celebrations, the strutting of a wealth we all know is dwindling is a waste of time, of energy and resources… I suppose we will all be forced to take a side at some point,” and which would she find herself on? Would she retreat back into the wilds and hope that the rakes of war passed her by? He thought of her hands again, the calloused feel of them, of she herself branded by such violence that threatened to ruin her. Her eyes fell from his then, but his did not part from her. Where did her own planning take her? What path did she formulate? "I was surprised that those who were drafted were not better trained, and why no move was made to take back the farmlands. The crown has offered to buy what land is left that will support crops, but most of the fields were not planted in time." Another trek pre-empted. If he was successful in conquering Dunmeath, then they had formulated that the fields left to them would not be able to bear enough crops to winter the provinces. The very bid that had once been King Kürschner's pawn in this war had been turned on him, and either he knew not the danger of it or he cared not, and Theodred was not certain which it was. He also only knew that strength was all that mattered to Oliver, so when the time for rebellion came, he held strong doubt that the lycan ruler would easily allow such a thing to happen, let alone give into the demands of his displaced and suffering populace.

”I think you’re right." Her features shifted, a realization perhaps. It was obvious that most here failed to see the irreparable course these actions were taking them down. The very same that those of Crue Efros had silently calculated.  "Famine has a way of pushing its victims into depravity, to survival… I’m afraid that time grows closer the more they do things like this…” He nodded in agreement. "And when and if he does resummon those drafted, how many do you think will return to his call? I firmly believe the first move has already been made, and it didn't need another battle to happen."

---

”Most of those drafted at this point are the offspring of soldiers long turned farmers and tradesmen. It’s one thing to raise your sons to defend their land from raiders, thieves, and the stray supernatural. It’s another to raise them for war. So many of these boys will have never even known the man who should have taught them, already bled to the war and mothered by widows just trying to keep food in their mouths…” Yes, there was a difference between being a blade and being a shield, he had just never learned the difference. Even now, after all the time that had passed, he still could not accurately place a defined term on that topic. To explain it in a text book was simple, but when push came to shove, the only thing he had ever been was a weapon. Even in his time as human, he was hard to hold, difficult to deal with, an ill fitting piece to the jigsaw. Part of it was spurned by the rumors that encircled his mother and himself. Dark hair in a land of light was whispered to be an ill omen, even the practices that his matron had partaken in were witnessed as off and eccentric. Her death and his introduction into society as his father's son was a heavy debate. His step mother hated him, loathed the simple fact that he had drawn air at all - and he had always quietly understood her malice. He was the walking proof that her husband had been unfaithful to her, in a pact where trust was supposed to be everything, he had broken it. And for what? A woman he promptly exiled? A son bred to be a splintered shield? Even to this day, even as kind as the duke had been to him, he reviled him for that. Even to this day, he didn't know how to be angry without being a young, displaced boy at the age of twenty summers. He knew what it was like to be a son raised and made for war, for battle, for bloodshed. It's all he'd ever known.

"Some are not even sons." The words left him, slower than he'd have initially thought, a catch that made him clear his throat. That made him pull his sleeves down slightly. His vacant, distant stare would depart her and travel instead to the pallid discoloration of the night sky, allowing his hands to finally settle in a loose clasp over his abdomen. "Those who were able did not send their flesh and blood. They sent bodies bought at market and bound to them by chains of slavery." For who would want to genuinely step foot to the raze of the inferno? Who would want their children to be marred by the sights and sounds that were produced by the unbiased forges and cogs of war? ”The crown has spent so much on things like this ball I don’t even know if there are the funds to properly equip or train them now. Let alone time…” At that, he would sigh faintly, recalling briefly the screams of revelry, of victory. This ruination, this conundrum for an entire country was born off the blood of his success. It forced an uncomfortable chill to pour like water down his spine and pool in his belly. It was the same that once gnawed at his own homeland. The months of darkness that came like a tide of icy dread, that gathered all of those of the watch like the ascension of a curtain upon some grand stage. Oh how his nerves once crashed upon his ribs until they were sore and fragile when the banquet announcing summer's end came. A celebration of their plentiful season and a farewell to the guards sent to the far northern gates.

The wine was never as sweet once he knew that it meant saying farewell. "No, there's never enough time, and idle days only allow them to grow thinner and thinner." While he had thought this would be best for the procession of things from the Red Queen's station, he'd have never thought that the king would simply allow them to keep their farmland for this long. Her majesty could not have asked for a better outcome, in truth, and that poisonous cold would only deepen within him. ”Like you said, even if they bought the land back, who will you ask to go back and try to farm it, even if the season was perfect for it? It was taken violently once, how will the King protect his citizens this time? What promise could he even offer them? I suppose that of a reward is often enough to draw out the desperate… But will they not just become targets?” He would nod, giving her a sidelong glance. "When your people are in dire straights, it takes less incentive. Both for them to heel or bite." She cupped her chin, those piercing cerulean eyes meeting his own.

Part of him was glad he had remained. Speaking to her was proof that he was not entirely lost, at least there was a diminished spark of hope. Unbeknownst to her, this was almost like a confession, spilling the tactical limitations he had formulated months, years before the first skirmish had seen the light of day. It was like pulling off a scab and releasing the dark and vile in order to begin healing. ”I think allowing them to return to the embrace of their lovers, the warmth of their wives, children, and their own beds was a mistake…” He would huff at her short laughter, a slight simper slipping over his lips as he once again turned emeralds back towards the transparency of the ceiling to the stars above. He was glad the fire of the north wasn't entirely extinguished. ”Placation and coddling will not make them better soldiers or more ready to stare death in the face. They need to remember what they fight for, but there has to be distance. It can’t feel near enough to run to, but he’s dressed it up with wine and splendor. It does seem the King has made the first move, but he’s made it unknowingly against himself.” She seemed to know what she spoke of, and he wondered what it was she faced before he found her. What her family and the village razed to the ground had seen before it was naught but another blood soaked scene along the snow. If it was annihilation by Émilienne, it was something he had known nothing of. By the evidence he had in front of him, he'd have said it was no planned assault - at least not by any of professional standing. There had been too much ichor spilled and left behind for him to think it was even vampiric. This face, however, could not inquire her of that, so instead he would shift his focus before his tongue was allowed to slip. "You speak like you know them." He would murmur in listless observation, the sound low, "Tell me, Helayne," he did not turn his beryl focus to her this time, "how many do you think will stand, even if they return?" To be frank, he cared not of the hounds, but those caught haplessly in the midst of the turmoil. Those who only wanted their freedom. Those like her, those like the man he once was.

---

It seemed that they shared an opinion here as well, the color draining faintly from her features as he brought about the subject of the wealthy sending further poor to die. If only war could be so noble as to discriminate against such things. If only those who sent them were more selfless or pleasant or good. Gods if only more good than bad existed, wouldn't this be a much better place? It was always easy to think of such things, to surmise that ones actions were neatly aligned. However, he had seen some of the worst outcomes born of the best of intentions. Consequences that weren't seen rising to the occasion once an act could no longer be redacted. In the end, to many, choices were their only pure possessions. His time as Aevor among the soldiers had been somewhat enlightening about their ordeals. Poor, unfortunate stable boys given the notice for the draft from their master's hands as they came to retrieve their horses to hunt foxes and other small game. Faces seen as replaceable, the least loss to whatever profit may mark their pockets. Even then, he had made his notes, mentally checking away the names for a later date. He was uncertain what action he would take with them when the time came, but he wanted to ensure that in the end.

”I do know them. I had brothers who were the same way. Strong and promising young boys who thought they knew the ways of war. Until it came calling for them too. Some will stand, like my brothers, unaware or under prepared for what they’ll face. Desperate to prove their name. Most will run or freeze, I think, at the first sight of what they’ll see… And it won’t matter if they’re noble blooded or not when they see their first man eviscerated.” He hadn't quite considered that fact. That the mere sight of some of the conjuring would be enough to make their blood run cold, to make a yellow streak run the length of their spines. He himself had made some monstrosities. Golems of dead flesh to man the siege weapons to inevitably bring to bear against the very people they once were - that they once wanted to protect. He had faced such creatures before, perhaps that is why he knew to employ them, for it was difficult enough to contest those you did not, but to cut down the face that was once a neighbor, a brother in arms. He would dismiss the thought for now, watching the gentle waiver of obsidian and pinpricks of light through the warping glass as his head moved faintly. "Another thing they must understand: these won't be men they're culling. Parasites. Leeches. Monsters. But not men. That will make it easier for them." Words he had once been told, phrases that he had passed on to those that would join him between the jagged teeth of the mountain pass.

He was certain she was right, at least partially. The mixture of health, however, in the ballroom was a massive mountain for them to overcome. Spirit accounted for much, but for all the fight they had in them, if they didn't have the strength to swing their swords, it would matter little. "I hope you're right." A slow, long exhale parted his lips. He hoped they wanted to live, that they wanted to defend a land that may have only been their home by force and not by birth or choice. He could only hope that they took strength from whatever they could, because if they didn't, and if the Red Queen was successful, what bastion did they have to retreat to then? What land could humanity run to that hadn't already been tainted by this overwhelming darkness? If they had their freedom, it was not without restraint. It would not be without fear and the constant glance over their shoulders. ”It’s why I’m here actually.”

Her intonation once again drew the attentive hue of his focus, different than before. Somehow softer, though she didn't look towards him now, only to the foliage and the table top. ”Someone took my brothers and my home.” There it was again, that horrid feeling that his skin was alive, crawling against him in an almost desperate air to escape him. She shifted within her chair, fingers drawing the curtain of her lengthy tresses to the side, revealing the mapwork of ruination that touched her back. His eyes traced each one, noting the depths and crevices, the ravines carved into her flesh without remorse. Jagged, smooth. All of it. He could still see them fresh, as well, ruptured and weeping. It had been difficult to find any willing to treat her without dire payment. Tanyi had been among those few to sympathize, to merely take coin rather than some darker recompense for her services. He could tell her the truth here - surely she knew something of him, though he could say that Aevor had never beheld her. Even the slightest whisper not born of denial or falsehoods could be a giveaway to her, and he could not risk exposing himself here.

”I’m trying to find his name…” His eyes would widen, a hand covering his mouth as he forcibly tore his eyes away. It was shock that infiltrated his tone, "I-I'm so sorry." It was a feign, certainly, and he hoped she would take it at face value. "I'm afraid I've crossed paths with a great many... capable of such things, but... I haven't...." He would allow himself to trail off, to swallow hard. "There is someone who may though," he would begin, a hesitance that was genuine now seeping in. "I've met him here and there, a wanderer by nature as well. He's been known to delve in dark places and the dens of fiends for survivors." Though it was himself he spoke of, it was difficult to pinpoint an exact time frame in which they could once again speak. The Queen's shadow was looming over his head once again, her ambition for conquering not yet sated. He would be returning to Lavalles soon for court, to deliver his reports to the counsel and assume his seat for further scheming. Mayhaps while he was there he could somehow find her and happen to cross paths with her once more. He would be needing to make a visit to the Toad and Thyme regardless. "He claims he often resupplies at an old mystic shop in Shanton, if you know of it." 

---

He would have to agree with her. He hadn't been ready, he didn't know many times he had faced those jaws and the ivory daggers within them, or the hunger of claws that yearned just as greedily to tear into the flesh with wide eyes and trembling fingers. Some of his scars had come from those times, long, pink lines in various depth carved into skin. Some of them were faded more than others, but now they were always there. They always would be, stuck in a time that didn't belong to them anymore. They would dredge up memories, they were evidence that the long ago past was more than just a fever dream. They were the acrid truths and evidence of myths and scary tales etched into the canvas of his skin. Ones that once worried his sister mad and reminded his brother of what he would one day govern, the lives that were left at their door step to protect their people. Those who bravely gave all to defend neighbors and families not entirely their own.

It was harder to do now, to leave a permanent mark, especially one that needed to be recalled and the stories behind them. He'd found that most times even the deepest wound would seal without a lasting blemish. Silver still did, wood. The bite of slavering hounds. But not a regular blade, not a normal tooth or nail. It was primarily him now, so it didn't matter. This world existed in the present, it didn't need the cut carved into his shoulder blade to remember the day that Niels lost his life, the sutures all too tight nd pulling at his skin as he delivered the ceremonial pin and flag repertoire to his mother to begin her suffering. He remembered that look of knowing as she'd found his face on her door step. He didn't know if it was just his appearance or if he himself had grown paler as she'd opened the door, but she hadn't even greeted him. Only started bawling, pulling at his collar as she screamed at him that she had begged her poor child not to join them. She was gone now too. They were all gone, and until in some far distant time that the bones of their civilization could be discovered by learned men and women, he was the only one left that could remember them as who they once were.

He stole the same from her, his eyes wandering the paths of savagery for her own story while her own gaze was turned away. He knew the state he found her in, the dead room around her and she the only spark of light that bloomed so weakly within it. Like embers of a ravenous but starved fire, clinging to the precipice of the abyss with a strength that many often saw leeched from their sinew. How many more would she have? How much longer would she have lasted? Been toyed with? Oh, but wasn't that the worst of it? It wasn't enough for them to rip everything away, but to play with their food, with the creations of their cruelty? He recalled those early days too, chained in silver as it was the only thing the man had found he wouldn't rip free from the stone of the walls. That he couldn't escape as he had tried to break his mind, to force him to embrace this horrid curse. He recalled that undeniable searing thirst that felt as though the hot coals had been placed and sealed within his throat. The only lesson it had taught him in the end was to stay in control of it, he could not merely shut it out completely, that as long as he sipped slowly, lightly that he didn't have to kill another for his own sake. A lesson that had come at a great price to a delicate sanity all those moons ago.

He could never do something like this.
Not without a purpose beyond pleasure behind it.

”Do you mean Toad & Thyme? Tanyi’s shop?” It was then his focus cleared and he realized she was once more looking at him and that he had been heavily staring at the stage of whimsical horror her hair once more was lowered to cover. He took a deep breath at her slight nervous smile. "I'm not certain. I don't speak with him often." His voice was quiet, knowing full well that so long as he left himself detached from himself the better it often was. For when he inflected, when he listened to himself and his own bitter inclinations he could very rarely see productivity. For anyone. A mire that was easy to become lost in and eager to drown him. ”I do know it… She’s the one who saved my life, actually.” He offered her a smile, one that was ill befitting the softer features of Aevor, one that barely trespassed upon his countenance. I know. "Good, then you'll know where to look." ”Do you happen to know his name?” At that, he would shake his head, knowing well the calling he'd given the store keeper, but unknowing where the next steps in this path would lead him. Only that he needed to take them. He could no longer abide this. "I'm afraid not." The displaced simper would slowly fade, his brows drawn, an apology, though its depths disguised in this light manner. "Sorry I could not be of more use to you, Helayne."

---

He'd stopped by from time to time. Tanyi and her shop had become somewhat familiar to him, and though he wouldn't be as bold as to call the shopkeeper an ally, he had become somewhat accustomed to her oddities. He would never pose the action as true concern, but he had checked in on her on occasion. The occultist certainly knew the truth behind the matter, knew what he was though he had tried to cover his tracks enough for her not to know who he was. Regardless of her views of his ilk, she had always allowed him to trespass into her business. While it wasn't a crowded venue, she did sell quite a few articles that would probably be considered contraband by many of Lavalles. Briefly, he was curious to know if she had ever run into any issues over such merchandise, or if he was ultimately the only of the undead that stalked her shelves.

”No, don’t apologize Aevor, you have given me so much more than you know, truly. I appreciate it.” His brows rose slightly, a friendly smile masking his features. If only he could tell her more without ruining this façade. He wished he could offer further hints, though to be honest he was currently uncertain of his next steps from henceforth. He would be returning to Lavalles, and he would do his best to cross paths with her, but who she would see would be up for debate. He would need something to cover his identity as well, something far more reliable than his usual glamors as they could be detected and possibly undone as well. ”I have looked for answers of any kind for years now and haven’t found many… so thank you.”

"Pleasure to be of service then." It had been quite the while then. Years, gone in the blink of an eye. While he wasn't confident he could assuage all her inquiries from that time, he could at least offer her some insight into the matter. He would be able to take her back to the place he had found her if nothing else. He hadn't been at liberty to further explore the place as his primary concern had been to get her the help she desperately needed before she too met the fate of so many of the others he had come across. The movement of her fingers caught his attention, drawing his focus to the detailed finery of her silken gown once again. "You," he would pause, his words failing him and he would nearly grimace at himself as he faltered for what he should have said, though he settled instead on, "look lovely, by the way."