In the weeks since Owain had first returned to Caria Manor, he'd put great resources towards its restoration. It was not simply a matter of pride, he planned to use the manor as his base of operations. Stormveil was a fine fortress, but Ranni would not stay there, so neither would he. Several hundred willing servants had he sourced from the masses outside Stormveil, people yet willing to aid in the Manor's restoration and upkeep.
He'd personally selected handmaidens for Ranni and Rennala, he spent most of his own runes on artisans, custodians, butlers, maids, cooks…Owain would spare no expense for the Carian royal family. The small town outside the manor proper was slowly being rebuilt and expanded.
Ranni had taken to maintaining the illusion of her former flesh at the arrival of so many strange faces. She did not desire the newcomers to know her true weakness. Renalla was kept in a magical slumber, with several traveling perfumers tending to her at all hours. His princess was yet unready to face her mother.
Owain was kept in constant work, transporting often to Stormveil to coordinate with Oswald. His squire was doing quite well, the fortress was being restored, with the tent city outside its gates slowly being replaced with newly built housing. The horrible crucifixes that dotted the land, as well, he had taken down. As yet, his sentinels had retaken Fort Haight, cleared the region of the kaiden sellswords, Godrick's forces, and all sorts of assorted brigands. Castle Mourne had yet to be retaken, and Owain would need to make for it soon.
Lord Haight had been demanding to speak to him for some weeks, and Owain had finally made clear his schedule for the man. Taking the meeting in a small library of Stormveil that he'd repurposed as his office for the time being. He was regretting the choice with every passing minute.
"My lord, your squire has done most admirable work, but he is not of noble blood! Stormveil, indeed this region entire, needs a trueborn lord to be its guiding hand." The noble, a man that Owain had had little interactions with before the shattering, was beginning to grate on Owain's nerves.
"And just whom would you suggest, Ser Haight? Trueborn nobles are not so abundant in these Lands Between as they once were."
Haight sputtered. "I-Well, I do not know. I would leave it to you to find such a person, my lord."
"Ah, so you would pile yet more tasks atop my shoulders? I am very grateful." Owain leaned back in his chair to rub at the bridge of his nose.
The man's voice became more wheedling. "Forgive me, sire. I only felt that beseeching you personally was urgent."
"I will find such a lord, Ser Haight. Please, return to your fort and keep safe the peoples there. I will lend you a company of sentinels, you may direct them as you see fit until more soldiers can be trained."
The noble bowed stiffly, knowing he was dismissed. "Thank you, my lord! I will trust your wisdom in this matter."
As the door to the library closed, Owain sighed loudly. He was not meant for such administration, he was a man of action! Where would he find a 'true born lord'? The golden lineage was long scattered, most of the demi-gods that still lived, he had yet to even find. Not for the first time did he wish his Lord Godfrey would return.
He was only allowed a few minutes of brooding before a resounding knock came at his door. "Enter!" He called out absentmindedly.
Sentinel Rolant rushed to salute before Owain's desk. "My lord! There is a woman astride a great wolf at the gate! She calls for you, saying it is urgent. Owain surged to his feet, a wolf rider? This far south? "I will see to her at once, Rolant, come."
The younger sentinel lacked Owain's great height and had to rush to keep up with his pace. Owain could not yet recall why he knew a wolf rider should not be here, but his heart told him this matter must be urgent. He met the woman at the main gate. Intricate chainmail covered her frame and a gleaming bow sat at her back. Something about her face felt familiar, perhaps they had once met? "Hail, rider. How may I aid you?" He leaned his spear against his shoulder.
"Lord Commander! Please, my people need you! The village hidden beside the lake is under attack!"
Owain shook his head to clear his disorientation as several images flashed before his eyes. A snowy city of albinarics, Godwyn's easy smile as he embraced Lord Miquella, a towering tree so very like the erd tree but of a different hue. He cleared his throat. He knew of this hidden village, knew most every inch of Liurnia. "Peace, rider. I will go now to aid them, you may find rest and repast in the castle." He turned to young Rolant, who had remained diligently at his shoulder. "Sentinel Rolant will see to your needs." The woman began saying something else, but Owain was already dissolving into golden light. Memories yet unreturned left him feeling off kilter.
As he arrived at the nearest site of grace he'd yet touched, Owain smelled death upon the air. His eyes found the dark alcove that sheltered the gentle albinarics swiftly, narrowing in disgust at the rising smoke. He leapt atop torrent to rush to their aid.
This village was supposed to be hidden! Owain urged Torrent to greater speed as the sounds of terrified wails only grew louder. Who would be so brazen as to violate the peace of his new Caria? His answer came in the form of a familiar silhouette. Owain ignored the soldiers who scrambled at his arrival, ignored their surcoats of a watching eye. Ofnir would pay later, the omen killer he saw upon the ridge would pay now .
"Omen Killer!" He bellowed above the screams and roar of fires. Gideon's wretches backed by rotting hounds assailed him but he paid them little mind, only a bash of his shield or jab of his spear. "Omen Killer!"
The lumbering behemoth turned, its horrible mask a mocking disgrace of Owain's golden charges. The beast began to run. Owain charged forth, slaying all the dregs that dared impede him. A few more moment's time and he leapt from Torrent's vanishing back with wings of the crucible, slamming into the neck of a depraved perfumer. The omen killer still bumbled his way away, but he would not do so for long. Owain hurled his spear through the small of the maggot's back, baring his teeth when the omen killer was flung forward a scoe of feet to crumble into the dirt.
No foes remained within reach as he strode to the writhing cur, all had fled or died at his hands. Owain withdrew his great spear, kicking the man over. He knew what he would find when he removed the mask and was not disappointed. The dispassionate eyes of Rollo, Senior Perfumer, stared back at him. "We meet again, Rollo; child killer."
"Do not kill me." The man intoned, nary an ounce of emotion.
"Ofnir stole your life from me once, foul thing." Owain raised his visor to spit in the man's eyes. "I will have it this time."
"Do no-" Owain's spear sliced through the craven's throat, sinking well into the haft.
"Lord Sentinel! Owain!" He heard from behind him. He turned to see Lady Nephelli wiping clean the blades of her axes on one of Ofnir's stooges. He ran to meet the lady.
"Proper greetings can wait, my lady! We must aid these albinarics!" She nodded, rushing to keep up with him. He and the lady were able to save many of the villagers from the raging flames, though much of the village itself was burned down. A few hours of scramble had all of the albinarics gathered in the village square. Owain carried old Albus to a small platform so that he may address his people.
He and Nephelli stood side by side as the wizened leader spoke to his village. The warrior was distraught, eyes cast down, hands clenched to fists. "My lady." He intoned softly, offering a hand in friendship.
Lady Nephelli took it somewhat hesitantly. She kept her voice low so as not to disturb the Albinarics. "My fa- Ser Ofnir once vowed to me that he would never allow the downtrodden to be cheated again if he became elden lord. Yet…I know his heraldry, he bade his men to enact such a tragedy."
Owain was silent for a moment. "Much of my memories of the man have returned since first we met. He is a schemer, a coward of the highest order. He is one who believes the ends ever justifies the means."
She squeezed his hand with such force that he felt the bones of his fingers creak. "I…I see that now. I see him ever more plainly as more of my mind returns to me. A similar scene to this happened in my youth, I had sworn to be a protector, to prevent such atrocities; here I stand the tool of one who would order them.
Sudden inspiration struck Owain and he could not believe his density. "I would have you sit the seat of Stormveil as its lord. The province needs a strong, noble leader. You are of my Lord Godrey's blood, and righteous besides. I can think of none more deserving than you to inherent my lord Godwyn's fortress."
The warrior stared at him agog for a moment before slipping her hand out of his grasp. "You would have me carry the weight of such a title?"
"If it truly not something you can stand, then I would ask that you at least manage the province until I can seat another who is worthy. Though, I will tell you now, I doubt I will find any other choice. There is a noble likely willing to aid you until you gain your feet." Owain hid his grimace of annoyance at the thought of Ser Haight. He pressed on, increasingly earnest. "I would take you from the clutches of Ofnir. Plot your own course, my lady. Use your strength to lift up these downtrodden. Aid me in keeping safe the remaining citizens of these Lands Between."
She exhaled heavily, looking at him directly. "I will consider this, Owain."
He nodded with a smile. "That is all I can ask, my lady." They listened to the rest of old Albus' speech in silence. Owain would make sure to station a company of his sentinels here until the albinarics decided whether they would rebuild or make for new lands.
Ranni awaited him within her study at his return to the manor. "Ofnir seeks something from the albinarics. His lackeys ran amok in the village." He said as she helped him unclasp his cloak.
"What would they possess that the 'all knowin'' would desire?" She said with derision. Her opinion on Ofnir was even lower than Owain's.
He unbuckled his breastplate. "Old Albus would not say, though I believe he would relinquish such a secret to you, his liege lady. For now, the village is guarded by my men. A folly on my part that I did not send them sooner."
"Thou couldst not hath known t'would yet be discovered." Ranni began on one of his greaves. Owain said nothing, only humming low in his throat.
He was being stretched too thin, things were beginning to slip by him. The sentinel dearly hoped Lady Nephelli would take up his offer. He would rather send Oswald down to Castle Mourne than need go himself. That would be a journey of some weeks. Once they had fully doffed his armor, he sat heavily on a bench he'd brought up to the tower. "I offered Lady Nephelli the seat of Stormveil, but I now realize I should have consulted you first."
Her eyes held just a hint of storm, she carded her fingers through his hair. "Yes, 'tis true." She kissed him softly. "I trust thy judgment, husband mine. From what thou hast recountest of the woman, we are agreed upon the matter."
Owain sighed in relief, he was loath to upset her with such a great blunder. "I'll make for the hold on the morrow, that sniveling little cretin will feel my wrath."
Slender fingers smoothed the furrow of his brow. "When thou hast smote the wretch, come home." Starlit eyes burned into him. "I would speak to mother anon.
"If you have found your resolve." He folded her into his arms, and though her flesh looked real, it was cold porcelain he felt beneath his fingers.
For the first time in weeks it was memories of his past, not the magic of his princess, that captured his sleeping mind.
"You wished to see me, my lady?" He knelt as he arrived at the broad balcony of the royal bedchamber. How odd that Lord Radagon was not present, how strange that he'd been summoned so late into the night whilst off duty. He was uneasy.
The eternal monarch did not turn to face him, instead keeping her eyes on the golden city, shimmering torches holding back the darkness of late dusk. "Wain, always have I thought thee a good man." The sentinel startled, her words seemed ominous.
"You honor me, my queen." Her voice sounded…strange. Softer than he'd grown used to. Unease made the hairs of his nape rise.
"Stand sentinel." He rose swiftly. "Come beside me."
"Your Majesty?" Owain walked hesitantly to stand beside the queen.
"Godwyn arrives anon." Owain watched agog as she leant her forearms upon the long banister. Such breaks in decorum from her were rarities.
"Ye-yes, my queen." His posture was ramrod and his hands were clasped behind his back. Why was she acting so strangely? Was she well?
"How farest Queen Rennala? Is she yet hale? Her mind returned?"
By all that shone golden, he did not wish to speak of Queen Rennala with Queen Marika. "She is on the mend. When last I spoke to her, much lucidity had been regained. Princess Ranni-"
"Starlight." His breath caught in his throat. "That is what thou callest her, yes? Mine daughter." Her daughter? Queen Marika had only claimed the Carian royals as step-children as a formality; she rarely even acknowledged their existence. The monarch smiled thinly.
"It…it is, my queen." Why was dread pooling in his stomach?
"Thou wouldst leave the golden order, the golden city, for her?" Queen Marika gestured broadly towards Leyndell with a hand.
"Oswald is a wonderful sentinel, my lady. He will guard you with the same fervor as I."
The monarch clicked her tongue. "That was not my question, Wain."
He cleared his throat, increasingly nervous with this line of conversation. "Yes, Your Majesty. The Lunar Princess and I are to wed, ere my retirement. I will go forth to Caria." This was a topic that had ever caused conflict between them for centuries. Though he suspected she knew of his relationship to Ranni since nigh its beginning, the queen almost never spoke of his retirement, such did it upset her.
Pale hands gripped the stone banister with such force Owain spied an arching crack. "I am envious of thee." Golden eyes locked on his own. "To love and be loved by a Carian, it is a blessed thing. A gift most divine." How...peculiar; Lord Radagon had said almost the same to him once, many years prior.
"It is as you say, my queen."
"Treat her with utmost reverence and love, Wain. Maketh not the mistakes I-" Queen Marika grit her teeth, head curling into her shoulder. With aching slowness, her glowing eyes opened. She rose from her lean to straighten to her normal queenly posture.
Owain swallowed dryly as his goddess gazed blankly down at him. "Are you hale, my lady? Shall I call for the perfumers?"
For the second time that night, Owain was left speechless. Queen Marika's expression slowly crumbled, lip quivering, tears pooling. In an instant, the stately woman wavered, collapsing into his startled arms. The lithe embrace of his queen clasped around him, her face buried in the cloth of his overshirt. He could not seem to force any words out, could hardly seem to breathe! Without meaning to, he'd began brushing a hand down her tumbling golden hair, as he'd grown accustomed to doing with her children. She slowly lowered them until his queen was almost curled into his lap.
His front was soon wet with tears, the queen's muffled sobs showing no signs of ending. Were he a lesser man, the strength of her grip would surely have broken his bones. Only once had he seen his queen shed true tears. Not at the births of her children, not at their deaths. No, only when she had banished his Lord Godfrey had she wept; and only when they had been alone.
It was long minutes later that her cries began to soften until at last she reared back from him, golden eyes red rimmed. Her hands made fists at his chest. "For thine many centuries of fine service, I thank thee, Wain. I release thee from thy oaths, old friend. That thou mayest find the joy I have twice lost." she murmured, voice thick.
Owain's throat was closed tight with emotion, but he struggled to put forth a proper response nonetheless. "Thank you, my lady. It has been-" He swallowed roughly. "It has been my greatest honor to safeguard the golden lineage."
She said nothing, only pulling him once more to standing. Why were her eyes so mournful? Why did he feel so very terrified? "G-go now, thou hast much to prepare before thy departure." Owain bowed as low as he could, clenching his shaking hands.
Her voice, now stronger, halted him just as he was passing under the archway that led from the royal chambers. "I will free us, Wain. Trust in me."
He bowed once more, though he had no idea what she meant. "Always, my Queen."
Ranni's worried eyes peered down at him, cool hand on his face. "Wain?"
He blinked at the bright light of late dawn, why was he still abed? "Ranni." He murmured with a smile.
"What dreams hath troubled thee so long? Thou'rt usually out of bed far afore me, Sunbeam."
Owain grimaced. "Memories, ones I'd rather not speak of to you. They would only make you angry."
Ranni's familiar scowl settled into place. "Our burdens must be shared as well as our joys. Thou may speakest of…her." Owain sighed.
Over the course of their long relationship, the greatest points of tension had ever been his allegiance to the golden lineage, and once Queen Marika had called Radagon to the capitol, his allegiance to the eternal one. "My last conversation with the queen was quite strange."
Ranni's eyes slowly softened from sternness to confusion as he retold his dream to her. "This is troublin' indeed. I've need to ponder upon this."
"Ranni?" She was already flowing up from their bed, he caught her by a wrist before she could fully escape. "Ranni." He kissed her smooth palm, smiling when the second of her hands brushed his hair from his eyes. "I will see you when I return."
She finally smiled, if softly. "Aye, Wain." With that his princess went off to 'ponder'. Owain laid back against their pillows with a heaved sigh. When she got into one of these moods it meant he'd likely have to pry her from her books.
Once he'd outfitted himself for the day and taken conference with Lord Moongrum and Iji about the current state of their forces, and developing new fortifications for the manor; he made for the hold. He was eager to give Ofnir the thrashing he was due.