Chapter Text
And I never wanted anything from you, except everything you had and what was left after that too...
:-:
Imperial Year 1169
Pegasus Moon, Day 13
Gautier Territory
The wind and rain never seem to cease. The rain, mixed with prickling ice, pours down from the grey sky hour upon hour, pooling upon the half frozen earth. The Merchant sighs. When night fell, all of this would freeze all over again, and there would be blankets of thick ice covering the roads. Traveling would be difficult come morn, and if she wasn't at the Gautier estate by sundown, she, her horse, and all her goods were liable to freeze out here in the thick pine forests. She would have to make haste, and quickly.
Pulling her furred hood down further over her face, the Merchant spurs her horse, and urges it down the muddy, churned up roads. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was far colder, far windier, and much rainier than the Adrestian Empire-- and she half wishes she were back in the lush, rolling plains of Gronder Field, or down in the luxurious capital of Enbarr. Her time down in the Empire had softened her to the elements... but she was much richer in coin now due to it. She could cloak herself in as many furs as she needed; but all she had to do was get to her clients without getting robbed or killed.
The Merchant reaches the top of the hill, and after raising a hand to her eyes to better discern the mountainsides, she finally spots what she's looking for. A thick ring of black smoke rises from the chimneys of the elegantly lit Gautier Mansion, nestled into the pines. Reining her horse in, the Merchant guides the animal down another cliffside path, and finally makes it onto the gravel-paved road leading up to the estate.
Just in time, too... the sleet begins to intensify, and the Merchant grimaces as she feels her fur cloak soak through. If she wished to look presentable to Margrave Gautier and Lady Alicia, she better get up there.
The rest of the ride is easy, at least. All the Merchant has to do is speak to the heavily furred and cloaked guards at the iron gates, and they let her in without any issue. A groomsman stands ready at the carved front door to take her horse, a few maids with parasols beginning to untie the goods strapped to her horse's back. A rush of warm, golden air sweeps over the Merchant when the doors open up for her, and she cannot help the sigh of pleasure that escapes her as a maid removes her soaked cloak.
"Milady," A young maid murmurs, motioning down a hallway. "We've taken your personal belongings down to this room. Feel free to change before your appointment with Lord and Lady Gautier."
"I do believe I'll do just that. Thank you." The Merchant replies, slipping the little maid a small gold coin before disappearing down the halls. The Gautier Mansion very well wouldn't be out of place down in Enbarr, where she had long sold her goods in salt scented, open aired villas. The attention to detail is astounding, from the creamy, soft bed sheets to the lace trimmed windows, a dark hand tracing over the bumps of little grapes carved into her doorway. But she cannot gawk long, not when she has an appointment to keep.
The Merchant quickly finds the washroom, cleans herself from the muck and grime of the road, and ties her white hair up with a gold comb set with a mother of pearl butterfly. She hid away her fine things while on the road; it was much easier to travel looking like a brigand than a merchant loaded with gold and jewels.
Her embroidered black coat, recently trimmed with white stoat fur, goes over a black vest and skirt, lace tights and her knee high boots slip on easily... yes, this will do. Warm but not overly so for a magically warmed home. Enough to show that she was indeed the Merchant, the Roaming Witch.
All that's left to do is to go upstairs, to the den, and get her things set up. Her goods are already up there, waiting for her to elaborately set them up, so she makes haste up the stairs, and tries to remember which door the den was behind. Not that one, no, not that... ah, the door with the Gautier coat carved on it, as stated in she and Margrave Gautier's letters. When she opens up the door, sure enough, her bags are laid out on one of the long tables there, and...
...And someone's already thumbing through them. There's a red-haired boy standing on his tiptoes by the table, pulling strung gems and books out of her bags like they were toys. A broken string of pearls dangles from his hand, raining down upon the plush carpets and rolling underneath the furniture.
"Hey, hey!" The Merchant cries out, rushing inside to snatch the now ruined string of pearls away. "What in the Goddess's name are you doing?!"
The boy stares up at her with round brown eyes, looking back down at his now empty hand. "Well, I *was* looking at the things in there." He says, turning back towards the bags, and casually flipping through a few books. The Merchant shrieks and grabs a few of them; some of those were volatile spellbooks that could spit out any number of gruesome fates to the flippant. "I was looking for a gift for the kitchen maid."
"Why," The Merchant stresses, putting the books down on another table, snatching yet another jewel from his hand, this one an emerald pin. "Do you need pearls and spells for your *kitchen maid*??"
The boy's lips split in a smug, toothy grin, smiling up at her. "Because she's a lady, and ladies like pretty jewels, don't they? Plus she said it was the only way she'd forgive me for peeking up her skirts last week."
The Merchant stares incredulously down at the small boy, the books and jewels clutched to her chest long forgotten. The door flies open with a bang, and a sopping wet teenager storms in, his red hair bitten with frost and his features contorted with rage. The Merchant takes a few alarmed steps back, and the teen brushes by her, grabbing the younger by the shoulders with quivering, wet hands.
"There you are, Sylvain!" The teenager roars, giving the younger a few good, hard shakes. The boy cries out, possibly in terror, or from the force of the shakes. "I bet you thought that little prank was *real* funny, didn't you?? I nearly froze to death in that goddamn well! If the groomsman hadn't come by, I'd still be down there!"
The boy, Sylvain, turns his face up towards the angry redhead, lip snarled back in an angry grimace. "Yeah, now you know how *that* felt, Miklan! That well's really deep and really cold! You're just lucky I didn't tell Mom and--"
Miklan makes an angry snarl and raises a hand, as if ready to slap the young upstart. Sylvain cries out and shrinks back, and the Merchant decides now is a good time to remind Miklan that she is standing quite literally right behind him. She clears her throat rather loudly, which startles him back to reality, and that moment is just long enough for the door to crack open again. Miklan quickly lets go of Sylvain and shrinks back, staring at the floor as Margrave Gautier and his tiny, redheaded wife file into the room.
"Miklan," Margrave Gautier's voice is an even, flat tone, and Miklan's shoulders scrunch up even more at the sound of it. If the Merchant didn't know any better, she'd think the man was addressing a servant. "You were told to go to the stables and help there while the Merchant was here. What are you doing inside-- and as wet as a fish at that?"
Miklan opens his mouth, but upon looking down at his now smirking younger brother, he shuts it and makes an angry noise, stomping out of the room without another word. Sylvain adjusts his now slightly wet vest, takes the broken string of pearls out of the Merchant's hand, and passes it to his mother, Lady Alicia. "I might have accidentally broken that," He admits, looking back at the Merchant. "Can I keep it?"
Lady Alicia sighs, and puts the broken string of pearls down on the table. "Ah, well, at least it was only pearls... Sylvain, why don't you go back to playing with your nursemaids? Your father and I have business to attend to."
Sylvain makes a noise, as a young frustrated child is want to do, and his lip juts out in a pout. It only takes Alicia a moment to cave, sighing once more and clapping once, twice, a nursemaid appearing from seemingly nowhere. "Ethel, take Sylvain and play with him in the room over. Leave the door open so he can come and go."
The maid bows, extending her skirts in a curtsy, and takes Sylvain by the hand. He waves to the Merchant, steals the broken chain of pearls off of the table, and they disappear into the next den over. Margrave Gautier clears his throat, and reaches out to shake the Merchant's hand after she, too, curtsies. "Welcome to our estate, Lady Witch. I apologize for the scene my eldest son made."
The Merchant raises an eyebrow. So that was indeed his son. She thought the red hair between Alicia, him, and Sylvain was the same shade. "Think nothing of it," She says smoothly, shaking Lady Alicia's hand as well and turning back to the tables. "I'm afraid my little friend Sylvain made it a... little difficult for me to get ready. If you'll wait just one moment, I can get everything out and ready for you to look at."
Margrave Gautier simply makes a noise of acknowledgement, and sinks down into a plush green chair by the roaring fireplace. Lady Alicia sits down in her own blue chair and pretends to make herself busy with a book, but the Merchant can feel Alicia's eyes on her back the whole while she readies her stock. The Merchant lays out a delicate lace tablecloth and a few small pillows, carefully arranging Adrestian chokers and gloves, dainty pearl rings from Sreng, a variety of fine leather goods from Almyra, and gold dug up from the deep mines of Duscur. There's spellbooks and staves too, a few elaborate daggers from Brigid, and delicate shells from the Rhodos Coast.
The Merchant stands back and lets the two of them browse her wares, only stepping in to help Lady Alicia into a choker or two. Margrave Gautier selects a new leather belt with fine tooling on it, and a new dagger, while Lady Alicia takes all her Adrestian goods. The gold is counted out, and the Merchant is pleased that she'll be able to buy more wares soon; and maybe afford a few little treats for herself.
"Very good," The Merchant says, sweeping the gold into her purse as a few maids come in to take away the selected goods. "I thank you for letting me stay until tomorrow. I would be loathe to travel this late at night and in such weather. Before I retire for the night, though... I would ask Your Lordship for a favor."
"Oh?" Margrave Gautier arches a shaggy eyebrow, brown eyes regarding the Merchant. "And what be that?"
The Merchant tucks her purse into her pocket, patting it once to ensure it is well and snug inside. She would have to tie that to her belt later. "You see," She begins. "I came all the way from Enbarr on this recent trip. I will be crossing this country's width and breadth many more times, and I fear that the roads are only becoming more and more dangerous. It is already dangerous for regular folk; I am a young woman that travels alone with a large sum of fine goods. It would not be... prudent, for me to continue traveling alone."
The Merchant dips into another curtsy here. "If Your Lordship and Ladyship have the means, I would beg a knight or two to come along with me on my travels. The Knights of Gautier are legendary, and I would pay a handsome sum to have them as my guard."
Asking for knights leaves a sour taste in the Merchant's mouth. Five years ago, she was able to roam the countrysides and the cities all by her lonesome without much trouble, but these days, it was very dangerous for women to travel alone. She could handle herself, but if a day came where she scraped past more than one or two stray bandits, she had no doubt they'd slit her throat and rob her blind. Dying was not very high on her list of things to do, after all; business had to continue.
Margrave Gautier hmms, regarding her words. Lady Alicia leans into his side, patting his elbow. "You don't have to give an answer tonight," She tells her husband, looking up at him. "We have all of tomorrow to decide."
"...Very well," Margrave Gautier rumbles, looking back towards the Merchant. "I do have a few knights I might be willing to part with, but I need to think it through. You will have your answer by tomorrow afternoon, before you depart. Go and rest now; you have a long road ahead of you tomorrow."
The Merchant keeps herself stooped, red eyes looking at the plush carpet. She can see a few stray pearls in the elaborately woven cloth, twinkling in the firelight. "Thank you, Margrave Gautier. You are most generous."
:-:
Come morning, the Merchant wakes to a maid leaving a platter of hot tea, coffee, and morning pastries on her vanity table. Rolling out of bed, the Merchant grabs a pastry and opens up the curtains to take a look outside. The sleet has ceased, and the sky is bright blue and clear, but the roads are absolutely choked with ice. She can see servants out already smashing the frozen earth and scattering salt, but she grimaces at the thought of having to travel across the icy woods. It would be slow going if the sun didn't melt most of this ice by afternoon...
The Merchant takes her breakfast to the washroom and takes a long bath, sighing contently as she sinks underneath the hot water. It had been so long since she had access to such a large tub... she was long used to lukewarm spongebaths at inns, or cold soaks in rivers and lakes. This would probably be the last time she could enjoy such luxury for a while, so she soaks for as long as is polite before finally climbing out. She dresses her bone white hair with lavender oil and pins it all up with a bone carved comb, and dresses in her normal traveling gear. No need for silk and fur anymore.
A maid comes to fetch the Merchant as she finishes packing, and she guides her down the pine-hewn halls. The Merchant almost thinks she'll be taken down to the knight's hall by the stables, but instead, she's taken into another den, a painting of the original Gautier staring down at her with a severe look.
The Merchant swallows; why on Earth was she brought in here? Did Margrave Gautier intend to bring a few knights in here? It wasn't the best spot for them to showcase their strength to her, but...
There's a knock. The maid moves from her prone position against the door and opens it, letting Margrave Gautier and Lady Alicia inside. The Merchant quickly curtsies and shakes their hands, and shares a few pleasantries. She studies their demeanor carefully, as... something doesn't feel quite right to her. It is as if a large weight had been lifted off of their shoulders, all seemingly overnight. Had they spent all night trying to decide whether or not to sell her a knight? The lightheartedness is... odd, and it sets the Merchant on edge. Something about this sale didn't feel right to her.
"So," Margrave Gautier begins, sitting down in a chair and motioning for the Merchant to do the same. "My wife and I have come to a decision. We have a contract here for you to sign to draft one man to your service. While we cannot supply any Gautier Knights, I believe we've found an appropriate workaround."
No Knights were available, but he was still making a contract with her? None of this is making any sense. A man dressed in black and orange presents himself and a small tray, the tray carrying a few leaflets of paper, a candle and wax seal, and a quill with an inkwell. Margrave Gautier motions to it with a hand, prompting the Merchant to pick up the papers to study them.
This was all standard contracting; terms of agreement, no responsibility in the death of the person, standard for hired swords and knights, and... the name of the person they're drafting to her service is blank. The Merchant furrows her brows, and looks up from the papers. "I... I'm afraid I don't understand. Who on Earth are you putting in my service?"
Lady Alicia smiles, and claps her hands once. "Miklan," She calls, as if she were addressing a maid. "Come in."
The pine doors creak open, and with heavy, stomping footsteps, the same redheaded teenager from last night stalks into the room, brown eyes cast down upon the hardwood floor. The Merchant can't help but gasp a little-- is that not Margrave Gautier's oldest son? She turns back to the Margrave and his wife, laughing nervously.
"I'm afraid I still don't understand," She says, putting the papers down on the tray. "Is that not your oldest son?? Your heir??"
"Heir?" Margrave Gautier looks back at the teen, regarding him keenly. The Merchant sees *nothing* in his eyes-- no love, no familiarity, nothing, and the Merchant knows she's missing some vital piece of information. "No, nothing of the sort. Miklan was born without a Crest. In the Holy Kingdom, an heir *must* have a Crest to succeed the family. Sylvain, his younger brother, was born with the Crest of Gautier; thusly it is *he* who will inherit the house."
The Merchant was only vaguely familiar with the concept of Crests down in the Adrestian Empire. They were highly coveted, of course, and most heads of households born Crests, but she didn't think that... well, she didn't know *what* she should have been thinking. She swallows and looks back to Miklan, who refuses to look up. "Isn't he of age? He can choose whether or not to come with me if he is."
"Not for another year, so we're free to put him in your service." Lady Alicia confirms, taking the papers away to scribble Miklan's name into the appropriate places. The Merchant watches the effortless flow of the pen, Miklan Anschutz Gautier, written over and over again. "Miklan has good strength and he's handy with a lance, but he's far too hotheaded and temperamental to be apart of the Gautier Knights. Perhaps you will be able to tame him down a bit in your travels, no?"
The Merchant doesn't really know how to reply to that. This was her *son* they were speaking of, her firstborn, and yet, she regarded him no more than another one of her servants. Lady Alicia finishes writing on the papers, and has Margrave Gautier inspect the documents after. He nods once, flips to the last page, and points to the final lines.
"This outlines payment. All you need to do is sign." The Merchant barely hears the Margrave speak. She picks up the papers, red eyes scanning the last few lines over and over, her white brows scrunching her dark skin.
"There surely must be a mistake," The Merchant's voice masks a small, unsure chuckle, as if she cannot believe what's written on the paper. Miklan continues to stare at the floor, brow knit in barely restrained fury, his lip curled back into a snarl. "Surely this is the price for hire per month, correct?"
"Oh, no," Lady Alicia Gautier laughs, the sound sending a chill down the Merchant's spine. "No, Lady Witch. That's the price to *own* him."
One thousand gold. A paltry sum. The Merchant had bought rings more expensive than the wholesale price for this one man. She tries to meet his eye, but he just looks away, his teeth grit. He seems like he wishes to speak, but he cannot, not while both his mother and father sit there. "But what if I leave the country?" The Merchant tries to reason. "Wouldn't you want to hear from him? What if I leave, and-- well, never return??"
Margrave Gautier stares her down for a moment, making her shrink back into her chair, before his shoulders relax. "It makes little difference to us," Margrave Gautier waves a hand flippantly. "He will be of more use to you than us."
Miklan makes an audible noise, and they make no suggestion that they heard it. The Merchant sets her jaw, and sets the papers down. With deliberate slowness, she draws her purse out of her coat pocket, and slowly, slowly, counts out one thousand gold.
She doesn't feel comfortable about this sale, not at all. She was expecting a *contract*, a time for her to borrow a knight, not to be sold a whole person. But she cannot go out alone, not in this weather, and not with things the way they are. And... if this truly is the way the family treats their oldest son, she's not sure if she's comfortable leaving him here in their care.
So she signs. Her real name, in flourishing script. Margrave Gautier pours melted candle wax next to his signature, and presses his signet ring into the hot wax. It is done.
"Very good, Lady Witch," He smiles. There's too many teeth in it. The Merchant shudders. "Best of luck on your travels."