The morning air was thick with salt water. Roden tried his best to escape the cold, but the ocean cold soaked into his very being, pooling and coating his bones in mold.

Maybe not coating his bones in mold, but he did wish he didn't feel damp each minute in Whiterune.

It was only a few days of discomfort for the sake of rescuing an alliance. He could bite his way through the soggy air for a little longer.

Rogier's caravan stood still in the courtyard, waiting for the order to leave. The Whiterune palace guard shared no soft ears for passing distractions. Cal wrapped his prayer beads around his hands and Deirdre kept her gaze locked on the soldiers in the front of the caravan. It was a joyless parade of green and white uniforms on speckled grey horses.

The soldiers were weapons made of metal placed in a boy king's marble heaven.

For a second, Roden wondered if the guards were more meant to keep Rogier from escaping into the warm outside world than from keeping intruders outside. Rogier and one of his lords sat in the middle of the caravan in a holly red sleigh. Roden and Cal flanked one side of the sleigh while Ayvar and Alistair watched over the other. Torian, Greer, Halle, and Deirdre were behind.

They'd been waiting too long. Roden pulled Nila's cap over his ears. His teeth clattered together every so often. One minute closer to returning to Carthya.

"Are you cold, Lord Prince?" Asked Rogier's only companion, Lord Crispin. "Would it be possible to begin the journey now?"

Roden bit back a scoff. He'd never seen so many furs and blankets packed around a single person. It made him think about his blankets in his office for cold mornings. He crossed his arms around his middle, thankful that he at least had his long blue coat.

Rogier shook his head, "I will only travel with my bard. We can wait."

"As you command," Crispin shot a wide-eyed glance to his fellow noblemen on horseback.

"It's a fine day for waiting for tardy bards," murmured Cal.

Nobody really knew what was permitted when speaking in Rogier's presence and what wasn't. Roden scratched at the back of his neck as he stared at the wide open palace gate. "Tell me about this place, Lord Crispin; Prince Rogier. It's not quite what I expected."

Who exactly were they waiting for?

"Everybody says that," chuckled Rogier. He began digging through his massive collection of furs.

Lord Krispin tilted his head right and left, "The ocean controls too much. When the ocean is upset, it makes me upset as well."

"An upset Ocean means no attacks from pirates." Roden could remember angry words about angry seas during angry years so long ago.

"The Avenian pirates rarely sail this far north."

"You'd be surprised."

"What are you insinuating? I've heard much about Carthya's piracy agreements. One might even call them the Carthyan pirates nowadays."

"I'd quite like to meet a pirate one day," Rogier coughed into his elbow. "There's many stories about the south seas, I'd like to see if they're true."

Crispin's words stung deeper than Roden wanted to admit. Piracy. It was something Roden often put off thinking about. Rogier's wish of seeing a pirate in the flesh was much more attainable than he thought it was.

The puckered flesh on Roden's right arm boiled beneath his coat sleeve and burned away the soggy cold.

Return to the sea, return to the sea. Abandon all hope and embrace the wild waves.

Rogier coughed again, a wet, scraping cough. Roden squinted at him through the muted ocean battles. He was too pale for a young man. Too cushioned by blankets. They were hiding fragility. Something else was happening in the outside world. Everybody turned their attention away.

Once Roden looked up, he wished he'd eased into who he saw. He should've cared for the moment instead of crashing into the sea salt and splash of color. He wasn't quite sure what went on between his ribs. His bones were a cage around his swelling lungs.

His bones were a shelter for his sinking heart.

The girl in the scarlet cloak stepped into the courtyard. She alone ruled the ocean air. Her patched clothing and morning smile echoed a grandeur unattainable by riches and politics of nobles.

"My bard!" Rogier waved and patted the sleigh seat next to him. "Did you find anything interesting? Are you alright?"

"I picked a fight with an apple. I won this time."

The girl in the scarlet cloak didn't look at Roden as she fanned around him and climbed into the sleigh beside Rogier. She set her basket on her lap after pulling a blanket around her patched body. There were two different gloves on her hands.

Trouble was woven into those mismatched gloves. Rogier's bard looked at every person guarding the sleigh.

Except Roden.

It shouldn't have made him so frustrated. He was in charge here, Roden deserved one of those lazy glances.

Didn't he matter too?

"These are new friends of mine, they're from Carthya."

"Carthyans? My brother loves Carthya," said the girl.

Don't lean in and listen, don't- Roden readjusted in his saddle till he could catch snippets of the conversation he hadn't been invited to.

If he was guessing correctly, he was only a playing piece in somebody else's game.

He told himself he was used to it.

The story that Rogier's bard was writing already had an ending decided, and Roden believed he'd played his part. There was no room for him to rescue a sad song.

It would be a tragedy, and he would sit and listen to it anyways.

Maybe it would turn out a little differently this time.

Lord Crispin arched an eyebrow, "And how is your brother? Have you heard from him recently?"

"Oh yes, he's enjoying himself in the south of Avenia. I'd rather stay by the sea, whether cold or warm."

"I'm glad he's alive."

"You would say something like that, wouldn't you, Lord?"

"Perhaps we can hear a song or story or whatever it is you have to offer as we ride," Crispin pounded on the side of the sleigh, and the entire caravan rolled forward.

Something was different about the chilly air. Roden couldn't quite place his finger on it. Before it had been stiff and frozen, but now it was crisp with forced pleasantries. He didn't look at the bard, and the bard didn't look at him.

"How were your travels, Carthyans?" Asked the bard as she turned her gaze. She was staring right through Roden.

He probably wasn't helping his cause by keeping a close eye on the space just above the bard's head.

"Captain?" Cal coughed into his fist.

Ah, yes, it was polite to answer back wasn't it? Roden stiffened, and didn't move his focus. "They were fine."

The bard forced a smile. "I heard you saved Lord Stuart."

"Saved is a rather generous word."

"I have a question for your friend."

They passed below the palace gate; Cal leaned forward in his saddle during a moment of silence. Rogier's bard was squinting the entire time. The silence thickened. Roden's neck burned.

When the bard got no answer, she spoke again. "Who is this person who says he didn't save our noble lord? I've only met one person who goes such lengths to hide what he really is."

"Show respect. You know your place," Lord Crispin snapped his fingers not far from the bard's face.

"It's just conversation," frowned Roden. "There's no harm done."

No harm done yet, that is. He knew there were many stinging words both he and the bard could share.

"This is Captain Harlowe," said Cal. He gave the corners of his mustache a little twist. "Take care not to mistake humility for doubt. Where Carthya's captain stands, an entire nation follows. He doesn't need a bard's recognition."

"But who is he? What is he? Everyone speaks of him. I've even told stories of Carthya's golden guardian, but I only know of him." The bard's resolve faltered for only a moment, and she tilted her head.

Roden shrugged. "I'm a person. What am I to you?"

"I don't know yet. A passing moment."

"And just who are you? A champion of apple battles? A warrior with a wicker shield?"

The bard chuckled. And for a moment, Roden could see her restless face. It was enough time to catch the tamed glance of a once wild wanderer. "I'm a peddler, I sell stories."

"In exchange for what?"

"A passing moment or two."

"What's your name, story peddler?"

"Guess, I know it's on the surface of your tongue."

It had been too easy to forget that Roden shared this conversation with dozens of strangers. Cal's uncertain expression matched the curve of his mustache. Out of the corner of his view, Roden could see a simmering frown on Deirdre's face.

He'd become too casual.

Hadn't he earned the right to speak as he pleased? He bore the price of keeping kings' silences on his back. They curved through his skin and kept him awake at night.

Once again, Lord Crispin snapped his fingers at the bard. "Stop pestering our esteemed guest. Captain Harlowe has other things to worry about."

"You wouldn't happen to be named-," Roden began, the burning in his neck subsiding as he clung to sunrise colored courage. But doubt closed his throat and he looked at the cobblestone road. He shook his head, "I'm sorry, I had you confused with a passing moment too."

"What a pity. I had full confidence in you," the bard folded her hands over her basket. "You can call me Merry."

"But is that your name?"

Any alliance Roden and Merry could've had was ripped to shreds with those few words. Merry's jaw clenched. The Eranbole sea crashed against the walls of Whiterune. A storm lingered over the rock and ocean.

Merry refolded her hands, "I don't think we'll be good friends."

"Luckily for me, I didn't come here to make friends."

"I thought you were my friend?" Rogier arched an eyebrow.

By the Saints, he'd forgotten about the outsiders looking in. Roden glared at his hands. Foolish, foolish, nearly leaving himself wide open for a worse attack. He was lucky it was just Rogier. The city was melting away, just like Roden's confidence. Every building was looking more and more like the damp stone surrounding them.

He needed to try harder to beat that sunrise colored excitement out of him.

Maybe he could count the amount of rocks he saw that were light grey instead of just grey.

"Ah, don't worry dear prince," cut in Lord Crispin. "We're all friends here."

"Yes, we're all friends here," echoed Merry.

"You'll have to forgive the short tempers, Captain. Normally we're all in better spirits. There's been recent attacks by bandits, both local and foreign. It gets everyone's emotions running high."

"Bandit attacks?" Cal asked. He'd furrowed his brows together.

Everybody had bandit attacks. Roden looked away from Lord Crispin and watched the churning sea instead. He'd thought that bandits everywhere would've been a little calmer given the winter cold.

Deirdre spoke next. "Do the bandits have a name? Some are grouped into bands, maybe we know them."

"I don't suppose you've heard of the Faola."

"We've fought them before, Lord Crispin," nodded Rodden, his heart dropping.

"They've made Whiterune a temporary home, and who could blame them? It's wonderful here."

If Lord Crispin was actually concerned about bandit activity, he didn't mention it as he launched into describing his plans for a manor overlooking the Eranbole sea.

Roden stopped trying to listen. He caught Merry looking at him, Rogier dozing off on her shoulder. There was something more to it. A desire to talk. To explain past actions and learn more. A longing to be secluded and quiet, with no outsiders looking in.

The words around him blurred together. Roden took too much care not to be caught looking again.

A passing moment. He was a passing moment.

It was impossible to ignore the crashing waves. The city of Whiterune itself was just an extension of the Eranbole sea, built in stone and wood, and the roads leading to the citadel where Rogier would be staying were slick with mist that hid too much from view. Snow topped the mountains around the city. The roads slanted up.

They'd been promised that it wouldn't be a long trip, but as long as Merry remained where she sat, Roden would have no choice but to keep silent and keep his eyes locked on the road before him. The seconds ticking by became years.

Any movement was a weakness she'd pounce on and flick until it stung.

He looked to the citadel and it's single large tower spiralling into the winter sky.

It crossed his mind that anything could've been hiding in the cracks and crevices of the Gelynian mountains. Too many dangers hid too close for comfort.

Roden rubbed the back of his neck. The tower wasn't tall enough. It stooped like a gallows, the passing shadows of birds and clouds standing in place for rope nooses.

He couldn't look back. He had to trust in what was ahead. He couldn't look back, he couldn't.

But Roden waited so long for these sea soaked moments. This was what he'd been waiting for. He glanced at Merry and she caught his forced scowl.

"You must forgive me, Captain," Rogier leaned forwards. "It seems in my excitement that I forgot to ask the names of your knights."

"Ah, yes, I can do that," said Roden. He rubbed the front of his neck. He gestured to his right and left, naming off the people he'd brought with him. Torian and Greer saluted two fingers as their names were called.

"They seem to be good friends. There's far too few good friends in court. I take good care to know who I let into my closest circle."

"That's very wise of you, Your Majesty."

"Is it now? I still find myself making mistakes," Rogier coughed into his elbow. "Tell me a grand story, Captain Harlowe. Lord Harlowe? You're the son of Carthya's prime regent, are you not?"

Cal snickered and small chuckles rippled through the other Carthyan knights. Roden blushed. "I prefer captain. It's the title I earned for myself."

"I know you didn't come to make friends, but I appreciate your ethics. Perhaps we can be friends some other time."

Words, words, words. Roden couldn't win with words this time. He looked down. Lord Crispin was snoring; Merry's eyes were on him. Again.

Couldn't she look away during this time of defeat?

Somehow, he always returned to being an awkward dancer on a crowded floor. Graceless and misunderstood.

"Don't worry, Rogier," said Merry. She almost had the hint of a spring smile in her voice. "Carthyans tease, especially this one- I suppose."

"I tease too," Rogier grinned and slipped open Merry's basket. "Would anyone like a sweet?"

"I know I would," grunted Torian from behind the sleigh. "It's been a bitter conversation to listen to."

All eyes shot to Torian, who only shrugged. Roden rubbed the back of his neck, he didn't want to know how many other listeners agreed with Torian.

Had he been too harsh?

Torian jerked his horse closer to the sleigh, holding his hand out to Merry. She leaned over the back of the sleigh, passing sweets to Torian, Greer, and Deirdre.

"To your mustached friend," Merry's sour frown was forced to the point of suspicion. Roden passed the sweet to Cal, and found Merry reaching her hand out again. "This yellow one is for you."

"Thank you," said Roden. His face burned and he held out his hand. He couldn't feel the brush of her fingers as she gave up the sweet. Too many gloves, too many masks.

"They're not poisoned, are they?" Cal didn't wait for an answer before unwrapping the tiny candy and eating it.

Rogier and Torian began a debate about the sweets. The citadel was even closer than it had been before. Roden refused to eat the candy while Merry was looking at him. He decided that no, he hadn't been too harsh. And he would stick to that answer even though he knew in his bones that it wasn't what he wanted nor expected.

When Roden knew nobody was looking at him, he unwrapped the yellow hard candy and lodged it between his teeth.

It was easier to ride to the citadel while nibbling on a sweet that tasted of early summer mornings.

The caravan rounded a final bend in the downwards sloping road, at long last coming up to the stone citadel bridge. It was safe to cross for the most part. Roden looked down over the side of the bridge at the furious sea below. The tide was too high to see the shore.

Little sheep dotted the crystal green mountain where the citadel stood. He could hear singing on the wind and fishermen chanting on the waves.

The citadel itself wasn't very tall, perhaps two stories at most. There were maids and other servants washing linens outside. Merry and Rogier leapt from the sleigh and danced through the courtyard. It was almost a happy place. Almost a home.

But the tower cast a shadow over all aspects of life. Roden didn't want to be anywhere near the citadel's tower. There were ropes hanging from the tower roof, and he didn't want to know why.

There were too many memories the tower made him think of. Too many things he could no longer run from.

"I do wish he wouldn't do things like that," Lord Crispin mumbled as the caravan rolled to a stop. He looked at Roden. "His health is always one of my most pressing concerns."

"I don't know much about disease. Is it something he's always had?" Asked Roden. He dismounted and wrapped his horse's reins around his hand. It was good to get out of the saddle.

"It's fairly recent, but winters are harsh in the kingdom."

A door across the courtyard rattled open, and eight young women with double braids came rushing out. They were followed by three men. Lord Crispin grunted and got out of the sleigh.

"Good afternoon, Danvei," said Lord Crispin as he stifled a yawn.

One of the men, Danvei, reached out a hand to Crispin. "It's a bit of a cold afternoon, but it could be worse. My house is in good spirits today. You've brought guests and we've got a feast prepared."

"I like the sound of that," Greer called from his horse.

Danvei's eight daughters took over from there, each one a perfect example of hospitality in an inhospitable kingdom. It didn't take long for both Torian and Greer to follow their favorites around the courtyard as they asked about the citadel.

Roden found himself leaning over the stone wall surrounding the citadel, watching the sea. Another person joined him once the caravan had been situated inside the courtyard.

"You shouldn't have come here," said Roden. "Why here out of all places?"

"I was trying to hide," Merry answered, she set her chin on her hands.

"From what?"

"From people like you."

He should've left, Roden knew that much. But he couldn't. He'd later be expected to sit with Danvei and Crispin and the entire entourage at dinner, there'd be too many sounds and too many people. These quiet moments were what he needed.

A moment where two bitter people watched bitter waves chipping away at stone cliffs.