Warm pastels of dusk began to claim the near cloudless canvas overhead. Yet, there was still the occasional hustle and bustle of travelling merchants or active nobles taking their evening promenade. Golden sights lifted upward, watching the shift of clouds and the dancing sway of trees, teased by the jostling light breeze. The silhouette of the moon caused a gentle shiver down her spine, acknowledging the nearing days. School would be on its short break with her reasons being to break some of the monotony. “G’evenin’ Miss Andante!” Came a familiar voice, breaking through the deafening silence of her lost thoughts. Sonata blinked, fixing her gaze on the older gentleman, well into his sixties at best, if not a little older. He wore aged suspenders, a set of keys tied at his hip and a gray shirt – the groundskeeper. An amicable smile found Sonata’s lips as she dipped her head with a greeting, hand extending into the picnic basket that hung from her left arm, withdrawing two simple sandwiches to give him. “Evening, sir. How’s your wife fairing these days?” The aged man grinned, his cheeks flushed like that of a bashful schoolboy once upon a time. “She’s well as she can be, staring up her garden again this year! Seems promis’n.” Sonata beamed back in reply; “That sounds lovely, I’ll be starting a garden for the school soon to help teach the children a thing or two, perhaps I could get some pointers from her?” She extended her offer to the elder, to which he sheepishly obliged. “Awe, shucks she’d be delighted. I’ll be sure to let her know and send her your regards.” He assured. “But don’t let me keep yuh,  I know they’re waitin’ on yuh.” The maidens expression softened as she nodded, briefly exchanging few more words before parting further into the neatly dressed cemetery. There were maybe two or three others making their visits. After a little ways, she came upon a willow tree and resting before it were two graves. “Hello loves.” Came a gentle coo, with only silence to answer. “Christoph, the hunting season has been a fair one this year., I've heard.” Sonata rolled out a blanket from the woven basket as she set it before the two graves, preparing the light meal. “School will be on their break in a few days, but the children seem excited for it.” she chuckled softly. “Oh, Aeolian dear, I remembered your favorite book today and some new flowers for the both of you.” She continued on as if she were speaking to a dear friend, idly snacking before she retrieved the short children’s book, settling herself between the two tombstones, and began to read aloud like she would to her students before down time.

Jahi

 
The stained glass of the church's windows were lit more within than without as the evening drew to it's pinnacle. Soft twilight was washing down the canvas, a muted blanket descending over the city of Odersten. The draft was being recalled now, a sudden influx of solemn - and some even angry faces, ones he was even starting to see himself in. It wasn't often that he found a frown upon his mouth rather than a grin, but it was getting harder every day. Now, those who were in service were to abandon their homes and families to the threat of famine. Those with plenty of coin were of no risk to this, he was sure as goods could still be purchased, but the poor were the ones who suffered most. They had been stripped of their land, and many were already displaced and their bones broken upon the wheels of war. Those who were widowed, orphaned... what were they to do? Already, he had seen the gaunt, frightened, famished faces of boys who could not have seen more than twelve summers approaching the barracks. They pled to fight, to shine armor, to sharpen swords - whatever they could to earn a coin or two to feed themselves or their ragged siblings or mothers.

Yet still the throne only bid to announce the birth of their heirs, as if having children in such a tumultuous time was something to be celebrated. The crown was growing complacent in the present affairs, he feared. His visit to the priests had not come with the answers he had hoped to hear either, a sharp strike across the cheek, in his opinion. The eldest cardinal had simply smiled at him, not a true simper, but one born of pity that was almost enough to make his teeth grate. 'You are merely young, hot blooded, Coenwulf. Just as your father before you. Aid will come to those who need it. One must only have faith,' he had bid, and yet....

A long, hard sigh left him as he looked over the graveyard gate. To think the growing number of headstones was threatening to soon increase again was a grim inclination, but one he could not rid himself of. No matter if it was to starvation or another skirmish, the soil here waited without bias to claim more, ravenous. The cut of his attentive gaze would linger over the peaceful stretch he had already made arrangements to be his own place of rest when the time came.

However, he wasn't here to see to such details at present. His intended destination, it would seem, already possessed a visitor after all. It was not entirely without surprise to find his friend's wife settled betwixt the burials of her son and husband. The seriousness of his glower softened, easing with the sympathy he could not help but hold her in. He merely stood in waiting, patient so as not to disturb her as she regaled her little one with tales from a book.

The short storybook shared the typical fantasies of knights rescuing their damsels in distress. Despite the absence of her son’s excitement, she still read the tale with such suspense. Odd as it may have been, it did bring some ease and comfort in the absence what family that once was. A final page turned, and the book came to its close. Plush thumb sweeping over the book and its spines in idle reminisce as it was a story read nearly every single night to a four-year-old who thought it was just the most marvelous tale any four-year-old boy could hear. Oh, what she would give to see the excitement and awestruck wonder in his eyes again. Golden sunrise gaze settled on his grave, cautiously adjusting the newly acquired flowers and a few toys that had long since worn in time. She did the same with her late husband, despite knowing that he would gently plea to cease her fret and worry over what could easily be seen as a benign. He did this when Aeolian died; They’re lovely as is, let them be love. Sonata chuffed a sigh, tucking a loose silver and lilac strand of hair behind her ear. Just as she began to clear away her belongings, she took notice of a familiar face – one that caused her to do a double take. “Sir Luíseach?” One of Christophs friends – though her late husband hardly knew a stranger. He was one of the very few faces that had attendance in her late husband’s funeral though she couldn’t recall ever crossing paths with any other since to no fault of anyone’s but her own, perhaps. Despite the time passed, she offered her usual amicable smile as she stood, dusting herself off. “It has been some time, has it not?” She dipped her head in a slight curtsy, mindful of his title. “I do hope the knighthood has been kind to you, are you faring well?”

 
He couldn't help the sad simper that bled across his features as she re-enacted the story as she must have done a hundred times before. The enthusiasm that she wove the tale with as if the youth still rested at her feet, staring up at her with eyes full of wonder and lips parted with awe. It was always the happiest of endings in faerie tales spun for children, but poor Sonata knew better than any that such things rarely rang true in the real world. Especially in these times of darkness. It made it even harder for him to simply have faith as the good Father had recommended. He dare not encroach upon her time with them, his eyes slipping closed as he merely listened to the wind whispering through the lengthy fingers of the willow and the fresh leaves that dressed it. He took the opportunity to try and clear his heart and mind of the turmoil that threatened to cloud them. It would do little good to saddle his old friend with such worries not. While he often shared stories with the two, he always tried to make them good ones, ones that would have had the hunter grinning rather than further his own brow to wrinkle with dread.

“Sir Luíseach?” His eyes would open, slightly startled in his own right as he hurriedly dipped into a bow. "My apologies, Lady Andante," he would begin, rising to give her a friendly smile. "I did not mean to spoil your time with them." It was then he nearly grimaced to realize that the last time they had crossed paths had undoubtedly been at Cristoph's burial. Far too long, though, in truth he held no true idea how to approach the woman after his friend's passing. There was a fear that he had not done enough, that if he had merely done something different, the hunter would still draw air. 'Survivor's guilt' his father had told him, 'every last one of us that walks away - we're all plagued by it. What a terrible thing, the what if's.' He was, of course, correct.

He still awoke in cold sweats from time to time, gripped and plagued by the hands of the passed on. They grasped at him desperately, threatening to pull him down into their ocean. Such recollections that made him clear his throat faintly, “It has been some time, has it not?” As she dipped in polite tradition, he would wave a hand at her, "Please, m'lady, that's not necessary, and.... far too long, I must apologize."

“I do hope the knighthood has been kind to you, are you faring well?” A deep breath in, a slow exhale. It felt all too soon, and in the same instance, far too long. This stretch between fatality and where he currently stood. His father would never again wield a blade or raise his shield to defend them and yet the notice had found their doorstep all the same, even when they had already given their pledges and lives in service to both church and country. He would not be among those others of nobility, those who claimed the title of knight and yet sent their squires and stable boys to do their fighting for them. He would not put another soul through the horrors of Dunmeath. "I am doing well," the upwards tilt of his mouth didn't dissipate, though the hollowness softened to genuine regard. "And you? How goes the school year?"

She would idly straighten out her attire like she would when in the company of someone of importance. Coenwulf was no different with his rightly earned title. My apologies, Lady Andante, her gaze blinked as despite how long it had been she was never used to such formalities save for the youth that addressed her cordially and politely so as their parents drilled into them. I did not mean to spoil your time with them. Expression softened as she merely shook her head, unperturbed. “It is of no intrusion.” She assured him, “I think they would appreciate your company all the same.” She did not know how many passed, or if they had received other visitors so a new face would’ve been a treat nevertheless. A polite means of etiquette was presented with an amicable curtsy – a sign of respect for those of his title and position. It was not an uncommon trait of hers as she’d bowed to many before. Please, m’lady, that’s not necessary, Confusion riddled her soft expression as she slowly lifted and re-straightened out her skirt out of typical nervous habit. Sonata would argue that the knight standing before her was one of the closer friends to Christoph and perhaps one of the ones with a little more sense, wit and reason. I am doing well, her simper hardly left her face, if anything widened slightly with elation to know how the knight had been fairing. There was some sense of nostalgia, comfort, perhaps. And you? How goes the school year? Sonata muddled over the recent events as her gaze briefly fell to the familiar gravesites. “It is going well, I think. I keep busy.” she shrugged sheepishly, tucking the same strand of hair that had once again escaped from behind her ear. In reality, Sonata was being modest but she was never one to boast either. The school had undergone remodeling and the semester would be ending soon. “I am glad you are fairing well,” she encouraged genuinely. “Could I invite you to join me—if you have the time, I do not wish to impose.” She clasped her hands together as they rested just below her waist.

 
She straightened, smoothing her clothing. He had his reservations, a slight hesitance. He wanted to implore her to relax, to treat him no different than any other, and yet he worried how such an invitation may be perceived, and alas sided against it, allowing his hand to fall slightly and a smile to slip over his mouth as he shook his head faintly. “It is of no intrusion.” Came her gentle reassurance, one she would undoubtedly offer no matter if it was a bother to her. It was simply the impression he had gotten of the lady. “I think they would appreciate your company all the same.” At that, he would allow a slight chuckle to leave him. "I certainly hope he hasn't gotten sick of me yet." Though he probably didn't cross this trek as often as the widow, he made the rounds more than enough. It wasn't just Cristoph and his son that he paid visits too, but they were often times more likely to receive his presence than any other. Perhaps it was a way to cope with the loss of a friend and colleague or otherwise, but he still liked to keep the man appraised of happenings.

Today's grim tidings would be no different. He'd come to tell him that the draft had been recalled, that he wouldn't be back to visit them for the for seeable future. Despite that malevolent knowing, he would be lying if he was to say her steadfast simper didn't ease some of the wariness from his sinew. It was a staple in many of her late husband's comments about his beloved wife. Even before he had met her, due to his diligent descriptions, he felt as though he had known her for years. In the time since then, however, not only she but many faces he used to know seemed to have become distant strangers. Each rested upon their own isles of seclusion, a sea of grief serving as the distance between. His own household was affected as well, a mixture of uncertainty if it was better or worse situation. The menders had said his father would probably never walk again, let alone find his way back onto a battlefield. While he still possessed his mortal coil, he often silently held a dark wonder if his old man would have rather joined the ranks of the dead.

Such dark impositions that were momentarily banished as she spoke once more. “It is going well, I think. I keep busy.” She hummed, seemingly pleased. He had heard that the school had undergone an update in recent times, and while he had told himself he should have gone by to see what it was the children most needed, he had instead found other occupations of his time. After all, with the seize of Dunmeath, food was growing scarce. When the battlements hadn't claimed him, he had done what he could to procure food for those of less fortunate means. Those without coin or those physically incapable were in dire straights in the current age. "There is indeed no shortage for work," he agreed with a slight hum. “I am glad you are fairing well.” He would dip his head faintly, a mask to the abysmal musings of earlier as well as to shield the slight flinch at her genuineness.

She really was far too kind.

"You as well, Lady - Sonata, do you mind if I call you Sonata?" He was never one for all the frivolities of formal callings. He could only hope she wouldn't find it too terribly disrespectful. “Could I invite you to join me—if you have the time, I do not wish to impose.” He would blink, not bothering to hide his vague surprise. "Certainly, my time is yours, my lady." The words were accompanied by the breadth of his characteristic simper.

I certainly hope he hasn’t gotten sick of me yet. Like the flip of a switch did her face alight to his mirth. “Do you visit often?” she had been long under the assumption that both Christoph and Aeolian had no other visitors but her own. Perhaps the occasional passer-by given her late husbands outgoing personality, but she knew his death had long since occurred and eventually visits would begin to dwindle. She made note of this of any processions that occurred whenever she’d come to idle in the absent company. “I hardly think so,” soft laughter cooed from her vocals, golden sunrise gaze would linger on the gravestone, Christoph’s name engraved on it. “He spoke highly of you often.” Sonata could hardly recall of her husband speaking ill of others even on the days that proved taxing. She wondered how things would be should he still be at her side, hand in hand. What would he say about the renovations of the school and the plans for the orphanage to also undergo a better change? There is indeed no shortage. She hummed in agreement. “There is discussion regarding the orphanage too,” she mentioned. “I do hope it will be enough to get keep the sisters from pestering me each visit.” she sighed, following a half-hearted chuckle. While she knew they meant well, it didn’t make things any less suffocating or awkward Though such topics were neither here nor there and the happenings of the knight were far more interesting than those mother hens. You as well, lady – Sonata, do you might if I call you Sonata? Relief deflated her shoulders with a dip of her crown. “I would greatly appreciate it, Sir Luíseach. I do not think I am befitting of such formalities.” Her cheeks flushed bashfully. Sonata would return to blanket where she had been sitting before the knights' arrival. Weight shifting with an invitation as she made room for a place to sit. “Come, have a seat.” she invited. “I’ve got a spare sandwich too if you have not eaten – it is venison, is that alright?”

 
“Do you visit often?” At what seemed a bit of surprise from her, he would further grin, an almost nervous sort if expression that wasn't quite certin if perhaps he had something he ought not to have. Regardless, he'd give here an affirmative nod. He wasn't all too certain that Cristoph had shared his view, but he had held the man in lofty regards. He'd thought it extremely brave of him to step forward to defend their home. Before the draft made its demands, it was valiant men like Sonata's late husband that had held back the tides of war as long as they had. No matter that he wasn't a well trained soldier, he could hit a target from what seemed like miles away. It was something that Coen himself had absolutely no talent for. He'd merely chuckled, casting off the mantle of praise for the simple explanation that he had been a hunter by trade. “I hardly think so,” she continued, helping to dissude his doubt, “He spoke highly of you often.” "Ah, it's the least he could do after the long hours spent with both he and my father together." Came his teasing, a mock scowl furrowing his brow though his simper never truly disappeared.

“There is discussion regarding the orphanage too,” he would listen to the slight admittance, the press of his mouth drawing flat, “I do hope it will be enough to get keep the sisters from pestering me each visit.” Ah, a feeling he knew all too well, even if he would refute it. While he was truly devout to the church, their causes and their beiefs, sometimes he simply didn't.... exist in them. He was pratled at, nagged and then some in regards to his lax nature much to his occasional dismay. They claimed his spirit simply wasn't tempered enough, and though the hardships at present were grueling they gave list upon list of reasons why he would not truly come to terms with their noble work and his constitution would remain untried until he departed on his own pilgrimage. "They can be... somewhat difficult atimes. If the children need anything, though, and I do mean anything, please don't hesitate to reach out to my family. We would be most pleased to offer any aid we can." Though his father's only destination of late had been the halls of the holy, his mother could often be seen out and about. "I'm not certain the next time I will personally see you, but if you aren't comfortable seeking out our aid, please just mention us to the cathedral or the sisters. They're regular visitors for the time being, at least."

There was a breath of relief sighed as she allowed him to address her more casually. It also seemed to put her much more at ease as well, the rigid stance of her shoulders deflating to a more relaxed position. “I would greatly appreciate it, Sir Luíseach. I do not think I am befitting of such formalities.” He would begin then towards her, closing the distance he had given her to ensure her privacy with her family. "You deserve them just as much as any other, I would think, However, then, please, call me Coen, or at least Coenwulf. Sir is certainly not necessary." Her cheeks would stain, a small detail that was nearly hidden as she settled once more onto the blanket before the polished, engraved stones. He settled onto the other side, one hand bracing his weight behind him while the other rested upon his propped knee. “I’ve got a spare sandwich too if you have not eaten – it is venison, is that alright?” He would nod, especially at her reminder that he had indeed skipped lunch this day in face of his other errands, "That does indeed sound quite good to me, I'm not picky in the least."

Genuine laughter escaped her following the jest that fell from the spoken word of the knight. “I suppose he and your father are quite the troublemakers when your mother isn’t there to keep them in line.” she reciprocated with her own teasing musing in those once upon a time moment. It was bittersweet as she idly readjusted the small bouquet, she had replenished on her husband’s grave. Her mind was scattered in many different directions. The restoration and refurnishing of the small school as well as the project for the orphanage to mend and repair the wear and tear that was long overdue. They can be… somewhat difficult at times. Sonata cast the knight a knowing stare as if to say such terms were spoken lightly. If the children need anything, though, and I do mean anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out to my family. We would be most pleased to offer any aid we can. Her expression softened into a gentled beam as she merely nodded though she was never one to simply go out of her way and ask for help. Rather the funds she was using was from the lessons she taught in private with one of the well-known family. I’m not certain the next time I will personally see you, but if you aren’t comfortable seeking out our aid, please just mention us to the cathedral or the sisters. They’re regular visitors for the time being, at least. “I will certainly keep that in mind,” she assured. “Though I cannot help but feel that the sisters will use that as leverage.” She laughed, though in hindsight such thoughts could ring all too true.  “I know they gossip, as most would naturally I suppose.” She sighed. “They find it concerning that I live alone, or think that I am to remain alone.” She pretended not to hear their idle banter or those hushed whispers as side-long glances would pass her way whenever she made her rounds with her music to share. Her expression remained unchanged, and her tone reveled in neutrality. “So, I am hoping, since I provide private lessons for the Beleveron family whenever their current tutor is absent --  any compensation made will be towards these renovations. It is long needed but I must admit I hope it becomes their new spotlight.” Her laugh was a tired one she did not mean to expose. Instead, she waved her hand to dismiss, “But that is neither here nor there, how are your parents fairing these days? You mentioned a possible absence?”  She would steer the conversation quickly back to the knight following her reprieve to be addressed in leisure. You deserve them just as much as any other, I would think, A rosy flush would darken her cheeks then, However, then, please, call me Coen, or at least Coenwulf. Sir is certainly not necessary. “Coen,” she murmured softly to test the waters of his name. A delicate simper touched the corners of her cheeks musing the name on her tongue. It would take time to address him so informally but she could not bring herself to deny if she too wished to be addressed casually. In the meantime she would shuffle through the simply-crafted woven basket to retrieve the triangle-cut sandwich, extending the offer.

At her comment, his smile would fade some, not disappearing, but more changing than anything else. It was softer now, the light of it brushed his eyes in a varied way. He had seen enough skirmish in his time as a knight thus far. The several battles that seemed to dwindle those around him like shadows slipping away into the praise of a luminous dawn. He hoped as much, that their finality came gently, he knew that those last few moments were often bound in violence and blood, in earthly decay and the taste of mud turbulent on their tongues. Copper and soil. They deserved such a genial welcome to the world beyond. May their suns never burn too bright, nor their nights be moonless and unholy, the prayer of the clerics would resound within his cerebrum in recollection as those that belonged to the church were read their final words. Words that may guide them beyond the portal between as their mortal vessels were lain to rest. May they take nourishment from The Light and cast back the mantle of sin to reveal the purity of their hearts. Their helms would be placed at their left, their weapons to their right in ceremony. So that they may continue to guide the brothers and sisters whom they have left behind. Then all would bow their heads. The choir would murmur sweet trills of melody while the priest issued his final blessings. Wives and children would weep. They would scream. They would mourn the creaking trellis as the pulleys lowered their beloved from them and into a different kind of embrace.

Then, faces would begin to disappear, to leave the site behind. Visitors would come less frequently until it was only those closest to them that intruded upon their solace. People like Sonata, devoted wife and mother, and people like him. Those who just couldn't let go quite so easily. He that dug his fingers into memories and refused to let them pass on so frivolously. Perhaps it was selfish, as the sisters would claim. Maybe it was a personal fault not to accept the end of life with rejoice that they were merely on to greener pastures. For he knew Cristoph well. He knew how much he spoke of his family, how he could have picked Sonata from a crowd merely because of all the stories he had heard of her.

In what world was he better without her?

“I will certainly keep that in mind.” He had to shake himself from his less than favorable musings. Her words pulling him from the thoughts and his focus back upon her. “Though I cannot help but feel that the sisters will use that as leverage.” He would incline his head faintly, his brow furrowing. "Leverage? Whatever for?" the rumble of his vocals was curious, his mouth angled in a downward slant at the imposition. “I know they gossip, as most would naturally I suppose. They find it concerning that I live alone, or think that I am to remain alone.” He would listen to her, expression further drawing. “So, I am hoping, since I provide private lessons for the Beleveron family whenever their current tutor is absent --  any compensation made will be towards these renovations. It is long needed but I must admit I hope it becomes their new spotlight.” At that, he would merely shake his head. "That is unacceptable, I'm afraid. I'll tell my mother and father right away. I'll make sure not to mention your name, so consider it as no personal favor. There will be no gossip over it, however, I would implore your aid in exchange, should you want. My mother often helps those suffering from the food shortage, I'm sure she'd enjoy the aid if you could help her in my stead." He knew from tales how stubborn the maiden could be, and as she was already denying the proffered hand, he could only assume she would not take it without giving something back. He also knew how hard times were for any, and he didn't consider the idea of her spending any extra income on the orphanage either. One never knew in the present what would happen next.

“But that is neither here nor there, how are your parents fairing these days? You mentioned a possible absence?” He would dip his head in an affirmative nod. "My old man is being as stubborn as ever and pushing himself far too hard. Ma's doing rather well though. She hates the circumstances, of course, but I believe she enjoys having him home. As for my absence," he would idly sweep the greenery of the knoll along the blanket. Plucking the tender stalk of a clover as a sigh left him. "The draft's been recalled to the barracks. I'll probably be leaving tonight or in the morning."

“Coen,” at the soft cadence of his name, he would once again give a boyish simper. A nod of encouragement. "Aye, that's fine by me." The words were spoken before he would graciously take the sandwich, and then a hearty bite from it.