She didn't catch on, or perhaps genuinely didn't.
Walter relaxed in his seat. The damp clothes were echoing warmth only on the front, and have long since cooled all around. Water dripped in icy little pulses behind the collar and soaked into the fabric of the scarf.
He nodded to the maid, took the draw from the wine and closed his eyes with a huff.

Half a year, busying himself with work as soon as he could stay awake for longer than four hours a day, visits to the sites where funds were allocated, getting the roads to a higher standard because no funds have been allocated there for a decade. Fighting with Dolores over the proper presentation of the house. Taking over her sacred duty of keeping Richard out of carousing money-wasting habits - for good. Arguing with Garrick about allocations to the Huntsmen training and equipment. Re-making a list of areas with lower security and mulling over the outlook net restoration.

It was a bit funny, imagining a gardener trying to trim the ancient oak grove. He'd heard they made kittens, balls and cakes out of shrubs in Crown's Hold. A bit tragicomedic, to think of a landscaper trying to advise Illyn about the lord's hunting grounds during the moons' dominance; bit more fur around the ears then.

"If you did come to stay, Leysa, my dear, I would not have to travel for weeks to be dismissed on the same day," he frowned, too. "I am saying that, as the lord of my House, I will have to split my time between my duties in running the barony after over three decades of overall stagnation, and extracurricular affairs of varying intensity - such as an occasional gang of catspaws sent after my neck specifically - in between teaching you.

The matter is pressing for you. We ought to try and start as soon as possible, as rigorously as possible - because you are correct, I may be someone particularly suited for instructing on magic theory and arcane defenses.

However, I am not a lord who can afford himself much leisure time. I am proposing that we figure out how to make schedules and locations to cooperate. I doubt even Her Majesty the Queen's own landscaper could help us beat this up into shape, but we ought to try all the same."

He'd changed in this, perhaps. Boy Walter had time on his hands for pursuits other than his extensive and rigorous education. Sometimes, a whole week or even two, to travel and carouse for a day and return back home. Now, he was more experienced, much more reliable perhaps, but also laden heavy with everything already on his shoulders. He wanted to get this to work, to start getting results as soon as possible rather than talk in circles about it, and so the courtly language and incessant word-weaving of meandering meanings and deceptive indecisiveness was for the most part abandoned.
 
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Leave home, leave Arran to run the household. Of course, she believed in her brother, believed he would be fine without her. He had taken to archery very well, had made sure Leysa did too, but he always was the better shot. Their father had been sure to hire guards, trusted ones, and suppose some could go with her...

Was she considering his offer? He was right, after all. For him to make the journey, when Crown's Hold was their inbetween. Leysa had visited the Thornley's home early on in their childhood. She remembered the grounds they would run around on, where she would twirl ribbons on sticks into the air with the other girls, and the boys all tried to catch the ribbons as if they were butterflies.

To leave Arran alone was to open herself to her own anxieties. It hit Leysa the hardest, that the accident five years ago started the other attempts at harming them. One day, they would be successful... one day... one of them could be gone from this world.

But she wanted to do something for her family. She wanted to protect them. Walter was courteous to offer her lodgings in order to teach her...

"Let me speak with Arran today." After some lunch, the very reason she invited him over. "Although I need to think on a reason for leaving here, although he trusts you and your family." A shaky laugh left her lips. That was the truth of it all. That all the children that used to play together all those summers ago, grew up to see each other around societal functions. They all kept in touch, save for some, but Leysa's family maintained good relations with all.

"How is your wine?" She asked, unable to help the role of host.
 
He could see the hesitation on her face. Not to worry. The logistics weren't too difficult - but he wouldn't be the only one inconvenienced, if so. If she wished to learn at leisure - it would be his leisure hours to be sacrificed, and as nothing was offered in return for that favor but a favor owed, he might at least be comfortable in granting it.

"Of course. And, oh, you know, there's plenty reason to visit my little corner of the kingdom. The views are very picturesque for miles down the coastline. My sister is quite good at fencing, I'm plenty sure she'd rather duel for her own hand when the time comes." A chuckle. "And, it's spring, is it not? The hunting season. Your brother is also invited, but I am almost certain he'd rather decline, being the lord - it's also the unfortunate season for all the roads coming loose from winter's grasp, and ever so many cart accidents."

An idle shrug, a perfect alibi or two proffered to consideration.

"The wine..." He tilted the glass slightly, then took another draw. "The best thing one can indulge in, with this weather. Spice and fruit notes, and its warmth turning my blood slightly less blue, now that I'm not under the downpour. Once I've regained my legs, would you show me around a little? It's... been quite a while."
 
Leysa stilled her tongue, for she had been ready to debate Walter for every valid reason he gave. She even did not correct him, that Arran was yet to inherit the title but he was right that he would refuse. Arran refused every chance to leave this home.

She tried to keep the worry from weighing between her brows, but it was hard for her to distance herself from it when it had been her constant.

"... would you show me around a little?"

She blinked. Stared. Understood.

"Oh! Yes!" Leysa set down her tea cup to it's twin saucer, placing it on the table before she stood. Her hands went to smooth the skirts of her dress. "Forgive me, my dearest friend! Of course I would be honoured to show you the halls again. Perhaps lunch will be ready by the time you remember the wooden banister you broke when I was ten. You remember? You had claimed it was much faster than using one's feet to descend the stairs."
She grinned.

It was simply that easy to pull herself out from her anxieties. To have a friend make the time to visit was refreshing, and she could only wish the weather was more fortunate than the grey and wet of a spring's rainy day.
 
He would let her think on it, ask her brother, sit with the weight for a little while.
Sooner or later, she would have to commit to something, and sacrifice some other possibilities. Either way, it would be intriguing to watch, her decisions, or how her wit would try and rescue her from this quite constrained predicament.

Not knowing how to weave was a blessing in its own right. The world was full of wonder, faith that all legends could come alive, that magic actually could do whatever you wanted, so long as you had it. Danger, of course, was imminent as well. But then was warding snuckles and bugglewums with woven wreaths of fresh daisies.

Silver linings, he could now forego the scholar's hubris and collect the text pieces indiscriminately.

He finished the wine in another swig, barely allowing the taste to settle, and stood, too.
"What can I say, the tales of Orleon the Bold and his antics were very inspiring. Shame for the drape, too." He didn't count the bruises - he was a healthy kid, sprung up from anything like a sprout. Much harder to repair a torn weaving.
A smile, thinner than frost on glass. That boy died badly, long ago.

"I remember, but... a lot of things are like reading a chronicle and finding out mice nibbled on the edges. Do you ever have that feeling?"
 
She was able to return her natural self, the one without worry and fretting. A smile graced her face as Walter followed her out the parlour room, back out to the cold marble floors that gave direction towards the entry hall they had greeted each other in.

"I know what you speak of, but in my own way I have always seen memories to fill an ocean, and the more you swim towards one, the image becomes unclear due to the ripples." Past the stairs and banister that had been restored, in stone no less, and towards the ball room. It was a large room, perhaps too large, but it had to be to take into account the large circumference of the hardwood trunk of a tree that the room was built around.

Leysa moved forward, using her foot to point at a slab of stone and with a tap tap upon it, she declared. "This stone was the one I fell on when I tried to chase you and Lettie up the tree. My mother was very cross I had broken my arm a week before the ball." She grinned, looking to Walter. "I suppose my memories are easier to remember when I walk these halls every day."
 
"Naming things helps, I've found. Perhaps it's the bookworm in me talking, or an occultist, but it is easy to bring something where you want it if you can name it."
As he walked in a straight line, Walter raised his eyes to the carvings on a section of the ceiling. Small bronze eight-pointed stars were scattered in a symmetrical pattern, and while the carving was intricate, mind rested on the yellow glints of metal nested in the design. He used to imagine sky glimpsing through a strangely still forest canopy when he was a kid. Now, he could appreciate the hand of the artisan.

He glimpsed the bannister, slid a hand along it as he moved past, chuckled - harder to break now, eh? Some things just got better once destroyed completely. Something else would replace them. Something better, perhaps.
"Thought it looked familiar," the baron chuckled, eyes flicking to the stone, then back up ward. "Do you think there's still a way to get up in that tree?"

A half-teasing, half-mischievous look to Leysa. There were lights at the bottom of his pupils again. Perhaps a trick of the light, but all too set in their position.
"It's large and old. Aren't you a tiny bit curious, Your Highness?"
 
Leysa scoffed, looking at her friend with incredulity. "You think I could still climb this? Impossible!"

She was scared of heights now. Where had that youthful courage gone?

"I suppose you might, seeing as you are dressed for the occasion and I am not." She chuckled. She turned to look up at the tree, the ceiling high enough to accommodate it. "I would be afraid to climb now. It is not a natural tree no more. The roots." They were gone now, removed over the good course of a week by a few shroudweavers that were gifted in nature's delights. "The roots caused much damage to the cellar below. To the rooms, and threatened the integrity of the stairs that take you up to the mezzanine."

It had gone forgotten for some time, but it was not their fault. Merely the fault of the one Caretarius ancestor that thought to plant the tree and clipped it's roots after many generations of maintaining it.

"But still, it will remain here. A reminder of art and brilliance I suppose. And the memory that I broke my arm here and have rued the day since." She grinned.
 
"I think you could," he smiled. The mischief had dulled, somewhat, but there was something behind it, just a glimpse. Resolve. It tempered every bit of him, the childish bits included. "If you felt the whimsy to."

Pain caused fear. Fear was potent, it sank deep. Sometimes, just getting hurt once was enough. Sometimes, it took many tries, heart open to wonder. But once fear had taken hold, there could only be decay until it was excised.

The roots.
Directed by her words, he turned attention downward, and felt palor take over his face like a numb veil.
He didn't want to look. He didn't want to see. But he couldn't take his eyes away, either.
And, before he could say anything of polite substance, he mumbled, under his breath, "I'm sorry."
It wasn't a natural tree no more, indeed. At best, a husk. At worst, something maintained by weave.
The instinct was to snap it. Put it out of its misery. Jaw knit, for a moment.

Throat cleared, a crooked smirk back, just a bit of that daring-do that made him mildly nauseous. He loved her smile, though. Her attempts at daring-do suited her, and must have been so rare in the courtly do-not manner.
"I see. To build a structure with this tall a ceiling, of this size, is exquisite architecture," he agreed, and meant it. "For all the painful reminders, we've had some good days fooling around it, though. I wish I enjoyed those days a little more."

He wished he had a few more, too. Being named heir of the Hunt and family secrets stripped him of childhood, of the beginning of his youth, too. And then, he had stripped himself of every comfort in an attempt to defy how things were. Perhaps, it was on the grave that he'd almost shared that his resolve broke. What other path did he have? Where else to belong?
Bremen welcomed him back with open bear trap teeth. And then, they closed.

The room around was all too large. Beautiful, but...
"Perhaps it's for the better than I've missed a lot of dancing parties. Don't think I've gotten much better at entertaining noble ladies," as if to picture it, he'd spread his arms in an imaginary courtly dance posture, made half a step and laughed to himself. "How are you at all the elegant affairs?"
 
Leysa let out a snort of a laugh, one she dared not let out when in any other company. It was a spell between them, this friendship, that they could have grown since they last saw each other and yet still have that history between them. She doted on him dearly, back then. So had Lettie, and Archibald, and Annette. Even as they all smuggled a bottle of mead and snuck away to the gardens to share it amongst themselves before getting caught, Walter had always remained the quieter one. The patient one. Even if he were not truly the same now, but Leysa could see the familiarity in him.

"When have I ever left any room for error? What used to fill me with pride for my dance card to be filled before the first dance has now become my father's nightmare." She drifted from the tree, spinning in two steps before peering up at the treetop once more. "His worry then made me anxious that I did too well of a job to be the perfect wife. To make everyone forget I fell in love with someone much below my station. Someone that was too rough to ever dress in silks."

Leysa frowned now. She looked to her slippers, the silk shoe soft as she began to move into the steps of a quickstep.

Absently, she began a lazy dance. "And even still, I maintain good conversation with our society circle. Every one is always being watched, and I am still a daughter of the Caretarius family. Although, they look to me with pity these days, hoping I would change my mind on taking one of the many lordlings for a husband."

But there was that unspoken, unseen target on her. For reasons she cannot decipher.
 
There she went, twirling like a bloom being carried in the wind, and he smiled, watching her. Something still remained of that girl he knew, something that wasn't art for her acquaintances to see - and feel at ease for recognizing her in it.

Back at the estate, later years before departure, he did bring stronger drinks into the garden for them. If he was a man grown to be an heir, he could indulge the company. So long as Garrick pretended not to see them.
"If you were good enough to make the weaklings scatter - you would be a perfect wife for one who chose to stay," he echoed the sentiment. And added, his tone rueful, "I wasn't sorry that I left, but I am sorry that I was not by your side, either, all these years. Gods witness, I would support you." A pause, as he processed the admission of a mesalliance. A chuckle, breathless, soundless, in but a twitch of the chest. Eyes downcast, thick black lashes casting a shadow to his cheeks. A smile that was a strangely understanding one.

"Doesn't matter they don't wear the finery well, when we love them, hm? I've... had a few dalliances, myself, while I traveled. Are they by your side, still?"
There was, after all, a pattern to the dance with so many. They wanted to be seen - but weren't curious themselves. They wanted to be loved - but offered in return what they would like to take. He'd hoped her love did not mistreat her in that soul-crushing manner. And if they did, and were still around - Walter was quite inclined to revisit his younger years, and teach the bastard a few lessons in fucking right off. With a heavier metal stick, this time.

And perhaps he could be wrong, and at least one of them still had it, true and loyal and close. Shared love. Then... then why wouldn't that lover be in her house guard, or why was she still here?
Silks.
The comforts of home.
Not everyone could ditch their family and duty for freedom of the heart.
Not everyone had to take a hard look at themselves, after, and give in to the family duty at the end.

"So you are bound to play the game, still," he mused. "My condolences. Truly. I fear, now that I've returned, it would cost an advantage not to marry, much as you know it disagrees. Luckily, I've few eager, so that may wait until the trade roads are paved, bridges steady and the river banks reinforced."
He didn't dance with her, but measured careful steps to follow, so they stayed close without stealing her freedom of movement. His right hand folded behind his back.

"Have you considered anyone?"
 
Leysa peered at Walter as she continued her slowed steps of dancing. Her arms lifted when they were required to, her head dipping when it came to a moment to do so. “It would have been nice to have you at all those parties, Walter.” She agreed. Her foot rolled so that she was nearly on her toes, her leg kept straight and strong as her other lifted in conjunction with her arm and body extending elegantly. “You would have made them more bearable. I could have danced with you just to avoid the suitors pestering me.”

She relaxed her form, returning both feet flat on the tiles. Leysa stopped her dancing there, hands clasped behind her back as she listened to her friend. The ghost of a smile twitched at her lips, and she tilted her head to one side as she considered his question.

“No. Not since my first love was claimed to have committed murder and he was run out of Crown’s Hold. I have not heard a thing in the past five years from him.” For he had vanished in the night. There was no word from him, and Leysa certainly waited for the post to be delivered every day to no avail. She had done so for nearly eight months before her interest began to wane. Some days, if he was lucky enough to be held in memory by her, Leysa would wonder if he had sent a letter or not.

He never did.

“I do not consider anyone, but of course… If I had to make a choice, then there is the Duke. You remember Rosepine, do you not? Her brother inherited their father’s duchy, and they say he is looking to marry this year…” But Leysa scrunched her nose at the thought. “Rosepine is still an awful lady, and her brother is worse than her. Bad apples that fell from the tree…”
 
"Would have been terrible, but together, yes. At least to console against harder hearts and sharper tongues, hm?"
He wanted to dance with her. But when her moves have been precise and graceful, the turn of a swan's head, hands raised and lowered like a languid flourish of a butterfly at rest - he simply could not remember his. A couple awkward steps, here and there, his own hands fluttering and stopping, unsure.

He remembered all sorts of different moves that didn't bring joy to the one on the receiving side, with all kinds of sharpened implements. Those, he was confident in. Those, he knew well. Dancing...

"I'm certain your father would hardly approve, given the difference in our current station. But it would have saved me from all sorts of rumours, too." His smile was sad somewhat. He stepped around her, keeping at periphery, within reach, but stopping side by side with a fluid turn of heel.

"Five years... A long time. And a grave sentence. Have you attempted to track him down? Surely, now the dust has settled, nobody would be suspecting an inquiry as to his deed. And, life on the road can be dangerous - but if he's still alive, mayhaps...?.."
A pause strung up, awkward and...
"I meant to say..."

A clearing of the throat.
"I mean, just to proof a hypothesis, pardon my language - what is stopping you from considering being courted? I've always envied you a little in that regard, you know."
 
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Leysa fought a smile, unsure if she should in this situation or frown with disapproval. The frown would have won were it not dear Walter asking her of the inquiry of her reasoning. She lifted her chin, regarding her old friend with a twinkle in her eye.

"Because I already have been courted by many, but none of them have... captured my attention the way I wish it should. That, and my father pushing his worries over me halts many suitors from even daring to ask for my hand in marriage. They fear there would be burning hoops they must jump through in order to win the Lord's approval." Perhaps they would have, but it became apparent that her father was beginning to limit his eldest daughter from partaking in the marriage mart. Leysa's obedience to dance with many suitors began to lift, and was now happy to attend to see her friends and acquaintances.

She let her head fall to the side a fraction, watching Walter. "Which do you envy most, dear Walter? The pageantry or the connections?" For Leysa was very adept at her skills with people, courting had been only a slight frustration. There were a good few she would like to never grace with conversation again, but a good number of suitors she had likened to converse with.
 
Walter inclined his head with a half-chuckle and a little understanding 'uh-uh'. Indeed, one couldn't capture what has already been taken. And if so...

"He is a good father - your reticence meets his caution. Another would try to rush his daughter out the door, so she may be secure by the time that he is gone, and the legacy would endure." he suggested. "There is also sense in keeping you close while there is a threat. Gods know how many spouses have been unfortunate enough to break their necks during a hunt, not too long after their happy marriage." Grim, perhaps, but surely not new to her.

A small sigh fell from him at the question. His voice fell softer, hushed, between them in an empty vastness of the balroom. He could not be unaware of the tree again, for shame.

"Courtship, dear friend. Courtship. Poetry that beacons admiration for another's heart. Gifts that show the understanding of another's want. Reciprocity. Effort without trite flattery. A dance that is more than going through the motions. It takes two, you know."

He looked to the tall windows, even the overcast sky scattering a muted pattern on the floor through colored glass.
"I may look as somber as a grim on a grave, but I've not lost my appetite for life's sweet moments. Or hope. There's value in keeping just a little bit of that stowed away, don't you think?"

Mirth, though tired and scuffed, but gentle, glimmered in his look to her. He used to listen to her as a girl when she would dream aloud, while Walter - couldn't. Words would get stuck in his throat, the heir unable to admit to the desires that threatened legacy. But there was, though dim and small, a flame in him now. He'd grown.

"What of Arran? Has an arrangement been made for him?"
They continued to pace a circle round the room, Walter's eyes wandering between the landscapes beyond and Leysa's features. She had grown, too, attractive with a soft, beguiling power of a doe coming to hand rather than the heady rush of a prolific flirt with broken hearts for jewelry. Methodic, but not malicious, under the finery and roundabout talk. He could respect that.
 
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