Location: Hallowbrook, Southern Barony of Oslo
Time: Day 387 After Alec's Arrival
The coach wheels crunched over gravel as Elira's retinue crested the rise overlooking the valley. Hallowbrook spread beneath them like a woven quilt of fields, stone-fenced pastures, and blooming orchard lines. The southern barony had long been considered the crown jewel of Oslo's countryside—rich soil, predictable rainfall, and loyal, if conservative, nobility.
Elira sat upright in the carriage, posture regal but relaxed. She wore deep forest green, the duchy crest embroidered at her breast in silver thread. Beside her sat Lady Alvenne, her chamberlain, scribbling a final note onto the day's briefing parchment.
"Land dispute between the North Bend farms resolved in your favor, my lady. But the steward will request grain loan extension to avoid worker flight."
"Approve two weeks," Elira said without looking up. "But attach it to their seasonal yields. Let them prove they're worthy of the trust."
The carriage rolled to a halt outside the manor estate of Baron Corwel. Banners fluttered. A crowd had gathered. Courtiers in tailored linen and farmers in worn boots all bowed in a ripple of motion as Elira stepped down.
She greeted them not as a ruler, but as a steward.
"Thank you for gathering. Let us get to work."
By midday, she had walked the granary fields, inspected the irrigation lines (still in early construction), and listened to the reeve speak on the new crop rotation Alec had suggested weeks before. The system was holding.
The people were hopeful.
And then he appeared.
It was during a mid-courtyard address that the crowd shifted. Whispered murmurs passed through the noble line. Elira turned slightly, instinct telling her who it was before she saw him.
Dain.
Lord Dain of the North Borderlands, her late husband's younger brother. Still unwed. Still unyielding.
He strode in with calculated ease, wearing a dusk-blue riding coat and a half-smile that wasn't warmth, but mimicry of it.
"My lady Elira," he said with a slight bow. "A pleasure to see you return to Hallowbrook. The land blooms under your rule."
Elira didn't blink. "Lord Dain. This visit was unannounced."
"My apologies. I had business with Baron Corwel. Only upon my arrival did I hear you were here. I thought it would be discourteous not to greet my former sister."
The word "former" lingered.
She inclined her head. "We are all stewards of Oslo. Courtesies are appreciated."
"Indeed."
The air around them tightened. Elira noticed the sidelong glances from her entourage, the careful stillness in the farmers' faces. She couldn't rebuke him here—not in public, not without appearing petty or ungrateful. Dain knew that. She could see it in his eyes.
"If I may," he said smoothly, "I would ask for a moment of your time later today. In private. Nothing formal. Just a walk. For old time's sake."
She hesitated.
And then nodded.
"Of course."
She hated how easy it was to fall into the old habits of nobility. To give ground in the name of civility.
But she was still Countess.
And sometimes survival came from endurance, not defiance.
They met an hour before dusk.
Dain was waiting at the west orchard trail, hands folded behind his back, posture casual. But not relaxed. He watched her like a man who had rehearsed.
"Thank you for agreeing."
"I had little choice, given the setting."
"Still, it's appreciated."
They walked in silence for a few moments.
Then he spoke.
"Do you remember the winter after my brother passed? You stood in that very hall and made a speech about legacy."
Elira didn't respond.
"You said Oslo would survive because it remembered. Because we carried forward not the man, but the vision."
"And we have," she said. "With difficulty. But we have."
Dain nodded slowly. "That's why I came today. Not to interrupt. But to remind."
She stopped walking.
Turned.
He continued.
"You've aligned yourself with Midgard. With a man from nowhere. A genius, no doubt. But not one of us. Not of our land, our blood."
Her voice cooled. "Alec has done more for Oslo in six months than most have done in six years."
"Perhaps," Dain said. "But what happens when he returns? When Midgard calls him back? What happens when he leaves, and your daughter asks where her father-figure has gone?"
Elira stiffened.
He stepped closer, but not threateningly.
"You have built something here. Real. Tangible. But don't mistake momentum for permanence. You have a daughter. A county. A name. Do not forget the weight of what your late husband gave you."
Silence.
Then, he added:
"I do not come to propose anything. Not yet. But I am part of your past. And I do not believe your future lies in Midgard's shadow."
That night, Elira lay awake in her guest chamber, staring at the ceiling.
She hated that some of his words made sense.
Not because she believed Alec would abandon them.
But because she didn't know.
And for someone who had once ruled from certainty, that fear was a fracture she couldn't ignore.
She closed her eyes.
And whispered her daughter's name.
Not as comfort.
But as reminder.