Why was Argrave wasting his time talking with the crippled daughter of Margrave Reinhardt? That was a good, if somewhat cruel, question. But the answer to that question was the same as why he was here in the Lionsun Castle at all—information gathering.

The meeting with Orion, though still some weeks away, was looming over his head like a guillotine. As far as Argrave knew, there were few people directly connected with the original ‘Argrave.’ Rose of House Parbon had spent her early days as a ward in the royal palace. Ruleo, a main character in the original ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ had a very unfortunate entanglement with Argrave in the past. Beyond those two, only the royal family had any significant connection with Argrave.

Provided nothing went astray, he planned on extracting whatever knowledge he could about himself from the chairbound girl. Rose of Parbon was a sweet person, and that would make things considerably easy… or so he hoped. Perhaps this was as unnecessary venture. Nevertheless, Argrave thought it might be important to learn some things before speaking with Orion of Vasquer, who was soon to take the top of the list of ‘most dangerous people Argrave had spoken to.’ That list included the Alchemist.

The five guardsmen led Argrave to the peak opposite the one housing the wyvern. True to the Margrave’s words, each and every one of them was a mage. Argrave could see the magic within them. He was glad to see them, as it gave him the chance to discern what each rank of mage’s magic would look like in his sight. They weren’t exactly labelled with convenient letters. Considering the magic within them was less dense than Anneliese’s, he was sure that they must have been C-rank, or perhaps on the lower end of B-rank.

Though he debated asking them as they walked along in silence, he never had the chance. One of them stepped forward and opened a large stone door, and then three entered. The remaining two stood behind Argrave, trapping him. He gave a coy smile and entered without a complaint, careful to duck beneath the door lest he slam his forehead.

The apartment was much more wondrous than those he’d seen elsewhere. The place had been painted elaborately, hiding all the bits of gray stone. Bookshelves had been made into trees on the walls, and the rest of the mural depicted vast plains with horses roaming them. Opposite the grand mural, there was a large window that allowed one a grand view of all of Vasquer. This must have been personally prepared by the Margrave and was a good testament to his love for his daughter.

The daughter in question sat in the center of the room, waiting. She was in a simple wooden chair that had smoothly cut wheels and convenient handles. One of her legs was missing from above the knee. The other looked undamaged, but was terribly small, indicating something was wrong with it. She was small, appearing somewhat frail, and she had the hallmark of House Parbon on display—bright red hair, brighter red eyes.

Argrave stepped forward, and his knightly escorts spread throughout the room. All of them faced him, evidently ready to attack him if he tried anything.

“Hello, Lady Rose,” he greeted at once, giving a polite bow.

“…hello,” she returned after a moment’s pause, staring up at him. Her eyes didn’t give off an impression of weakness at all. “You have… are you truly Argrave?”

“Is it the eyes that cast doubt?” he questioned, placing one hand against his face. “Well, I suppose it has been… many years,” he trailed off, not knowing the exact number of years.

She placed her hands on her lap. “My father tells me you are here to apologize.”

“That’s right,” Argrave confirmed, then glanced around. With the presence of the cold knights, he found it a bit difficult to avoid any awkwardness. He supposed this should not be easy for him.

Argrave cleared his throat. “I have much to say about the matter… but I feel it would be best to get to the point. I apologize for causing the severe injuries to your legs,” he lowered his head deeply and placed his hand to his chest. “I altered your life unforgivably, and so I will not dare hope for forgiveness. Nonetheless, I wish for you to know I harbor deep regret.”

In the silence that followed, Argrave heard her take a deep breath and exhale. He felt he’d been sufficiently glib, and he hoped she’d buy it. He had a lot to learn from her.

“Do you remember the season in which this happened?”

Argrave lifted his head. No, was what his mind was screaming, but he could not say that. Considering it was a horseback accident…

“Spring,” he said with confidence, though it was a total guess.

“Winter, actually,” she corrected, causing Argrave to tense up. The knights seemed to bristle at this discrepancy—it marked he didn’t care enough to remember, or so they would think.

Perhaps Rose sensed this, or perhaps Argrave merely got lucky, for she continued, “But spring and winter are so close to each other, perhaps it is my memory that is off,” she charitably waved her hand.

Rose’s gaze moved between the knights. She pursed her lips, and then waved. “Please, good knights, give us some time alone.”

“My lady…” one of them protested.

“Give me my freedom to choose, at the very least,” she smiled. It seemed to strike a chord with the knights, and they all left quickly. Once they were gone, Rose looked up at Argrave. “You could convince me you were not the same boy I knew all those years ago, during that winter…”

“What has changed since then?” Argrave politely questioned, smiling somewhat.

“Well… to start with, you would not so patiently wait to be invited to sit all those years ago,” Rose said. “Please,” she gestured for an empty chair.

Argrave said his thanks, then pulled the chair to sit beside a table near the Margrave’s daughter.

“Do you still hope for a betrothal with me?” she began.

Had Argrave been drinking, he most certainly would have choked just then. Instead, he kept his gaze on her eyes and said plainly, “No. I have other commitments.”

She raised a brow, then rolled her chair closer until she sat opposite the table. “Nikoletta of Monticci?”

“Anneliese of… you wouldn’t know it,” he shook his head. “My travelling companion.”

“The snow elf?” she tilted her head. When Argrave nodded, she seemed surprised. “Then you really have changed.”

“How so?” Argrave furrowed his brows.

She looked out the window into the plains of southern Vasquer. “I recall that you made comments about cutting off elven ears when we took a carriage tour of Diraccha.”

So, Argrave was a racist, he noted mentally. “Nothing changes one’s opinion of another more than exposure,” he dialogued casually.

“And halting an invasion—this was your exposure?” she looked back to him.

“No,” Argrave shook his head with a smile. “A mercenary. Galamon. He taught me more than anyone besides—” he stopped himself from saying ‘his father,’ because ‘Argrave’ didn’t exactly have a good father figure. “He taught me about strategy, honor, loyalty, reliability, and… ways to cope,” he finished vaguely, hoping she’d catch the bait.

“Cope?” she took the bait.

“You mentioned your memory of the events was off,” Argrave gestured towards her. “There are big holes in my childhood. And… well, I shouldn’t get into this,” he shook his head, acting hesitant.

“Please, I can listen,” she insisted.

Argrave bit his lip. “I don’t want to talk about how hard I had things. It trivializes…” his gaze darted to her legs, then off to the side. “…trivializes what I did to you. And it isn’t trivial. I did something horrible.”

Rose looked genuinely affected by his words, and Argrave felt guilty that they were all empty. They sat in the silence, neither looking at the other.

“I heard rumors… that Induen enjoys orphaning children,” Rose said lightly.

Argrave looked at her, trying to act as though she’d struck a sensitive spot.

“I see,” she nodded slowly.

“Some learned men say that the mind deliberately represses some memories that are… traumatic,” Argrave said suggestively. “Like I said, there are big holes in my memory.” He finally looked at her, locking his golden-eyed gaze on hers. “People tell me I was a terrible person. And I do remember doing terrible things. But… I would like to turn a new leaf. Can I… no, I shouldn’t,” he turned away.

“You can talk to me,” she rolled her chair a bit forward.

Argrave refused to meet her gaze for a few seconds, then turned over. “Can you help me recount things? I want to make things right. With you—with everyone.” He turned out to the window, eyes distant. “I was so far gone that I didn’t even realize half the things I was doing were wrong.”

Rose looked hesitant, but she did eventually nod. “Alright. I can help you with that. In return… you’ll have to answer some of my questions about your travels,” she bartered.

“You… I don’t know how you can agree so easily,” Argrave said emotionally. “Yeah. Anything you want to know.”

Argrave felt the filthiest he had ever been, but the prospect of meeting Orion kept the façade right over his face. He’d be sure to get what he needed to know.

#####

“Little Argrave had a stutter?” Anneliese questioned curiously. As ever, they watched the suns set together, sitting on the edge of the Lionsun Wall, gazing out beyond the mountains.

“So Rose says…” Argrave shook his head. “He lost his mother at eight. Induen’s doing. Little Argrave watched, apparently. Unfortunately, Rose never met her.”

Anneliese looked disappointed, but she quickly refocused. “Anything useful for dealing with Orion? Your—his—relationship with the man?”

“Rose’s knowledge had an eight-year gap. She left Diraccha when she was thirteen. I did learn how old I am, though,” he looked to Anneliese. “Twenty.”

“Young,” Anneliese raised a brow.

“Younger than ‘me,’” Argrave put his thumbs against his chest. “Though only by two—no, it would be three years, now.” Argrave lowered his hands and clasped them together. “Bottom line is, I don’t think Orion hates me. And that’s all I need.”

“Yet something troubles you,” Anneliese noticed.

“I don’t know. It was weird,” Argrave shook his head. “She kept asking all these questions about me. Wouldn’t call it friendly, per se, but… I knew something was up. Like father, like daughter, like son… all of the Parbons are terrible at hiding things. It made it difficult to learn what I wanted… but I’d say it was sufficient.” He turned his head to Anneliese. “And we were also invited to dinner.”

Anneliese raised a brow.