5th of Saun 721
Spending the better part of the night of the 71st of Ymiden in Augusta’s dreamscape had persuaded him that he needed space from her. After having rescued her from Quacia, he anticipated she’d need her space anyway, their prior parting not having been on the best of terms. Woe was busying himself in the Order Outpost in Egilrun, sorting through the records and filling out ledgers to account for supplies. What was used, what was left, and what was discarded or consumed. It was tedious work, but it kept his pen-hand sharp and ready to work. He anticipated having to do a lot of writing, especially given that he’d be soon offering counseling at the Order Outpost. It’d been very long since he attempted such a thing. In fact, he could count the number of times in the past few arcs on one hand. Yet he was confident enough in his abilities.
Before leaving Augusta to her devices in the home he’d set her up in, he’d informed her that if she wanted to talk, where she could find him. He made it clear, that she’d need some psychological treatment for trauma, which would involve a lot of talking, screaming, and possibly crying. He didn’t anticipate that she’d be in anytime soon.
Sighing to himself, he wrote down the weight of the blankets next to the quantity, and the meticulous categorization of the herbs in storage. Eventually, he had to get up from his seat to check the larder, to see if the herbs were indeed where they were advertised to be. Faith had set a very high standard of organization in the Order, but at the same time introduced a system that was easy for even the least organized member to recognize. Thankfully, Woe was extremely organized and used to dealing with the handling of resources.
He checked the labels on each of the herbal tinctures, taking them up and then setting them down in the cold storage. Then he returned to his ledgers to confirm that indeed they were intact and available for use. Most of the other cloaks in the Outpost weren’t as well versed in logistics, so they appreciated Woe’s visits to do inventory, to make sure their ledgers were correct.
He sat down and began jotting them down in ink upon the page, the measure of fluid in each tincture that he’d noted. Only a few of them were running low. Essential oils of Chamomile were being used an awful lot lately. Fortunately for the Order, they were plentiful, almost weedlike in the greenery of Egilrun and the east of Scalvoris.
Woe almost didn’t notice that someone had entered his space before he looked up and saw that Augusta was standing there. Not showing the least surprise, although he felt some of it, he glanced up at her, ” Can I help you Augusta? You weren’t seen by Fargis were you?”
Augusta shrugged, ” No, I don’t think so. You said you would be here if I wanted to talk.”
”Yes?”
” So let’s talk. About all that happened.”
Woe stared at her face a moment, seeing the determination there, and then sighed to set aside his ledger, and pull out his notebook, which he set on the desk. He gestured toward a chair in the corner, ” Have a seat in front of me, and we’ll get to it. Unless you’d prefer to move this meeting somewhere more comfortable?”
Woe wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when it came to sorting out Augusta’s issues. He thought perhaps they would touch on their mutual crime, the sin that had preceded her exile from the city, along with him. Woe had excused himself for it in the meantime, used his magic as the shield against responsibility it’d often been to him in times when his crimes weighed on his conscience. But he was always brought back to Magpie’s words, that his actions had consequences. He couldn’t hide from it forever, and there would come a time when they’d need to figure a way through it. But for now, Augusta surprised him by opening with another topic. One she’d never shared with him.
” You may have heard that I’m the Duke of the Lair’s daughter, illegitimate by Olga Dolizar.” She sighed, as she spoke in Vahanic. Giselde Malkior was there also, but Woe was there to translate for her if need be. But mostly she was there for supervision over him, in the interests of assuring that proper care and procedure was observed.
Woe didn’t make any sign that he recognized what she was talking about, not physically. Of course, he’d heard the rumors, they were hard to avoid especially given his intent to become betrothed with Augusta, once upon a time. He weighed his options, but in the end, decided that being truthful would foster a sense of trust between them. As patient and caregiver, at least, if not employer and employee. ”I’ve heard those rumors. I found them intriguing, I’ll admit.”
Giselde sighed impatiently but stood by. It must’ve struck her as rude that they decided to converse in Vahanic.
” Her common isn’t so good, you see?” Woe explained to Giselde, then turned back toward Augusta. ” Go on, please, Augusta.”
"It's true. At least in the eyes of those who matter. The Duke did acknowledge me as his daughter, much to my... late mother's delight." She sighed, settling into the seat he'd offered a few moments before.
For a while, Woe anticipated that she'd continue along those lines. But when she left it at that, he was prompted to try and continue. "And... So that's the source of friction between your mother and yourself. Did..." Woe wondered for a moment, and stopped himself from inquiring further into the matter. She likely had a point in allowing him to make that inference.
"When I found out, it was terrible. That ogress, my mother, she... Gloated in that obsequious way she had. She was horrible." Woe nodded, allowing her to go on. "Father Filipe was my only comfort then, which made the wound sting all the more for the fact he wasn't my true father."
Woe was silent for a time. It was always a sensitive issue, grappling with upsets to one's identity as all the assumptions of one's parentage were upended by a vicious revelation. Whether it was true was immaterial. Simply the rancor with which her mother had revealed the subject to her showed that the woman Olga was capable of inflicting deep psychological scars upon her own blood. In Woe's mind, as he learned more about the woman he'd murdered in the heat of the moment, he was almost disgusted to find that he didn't regret it quite as much as he had. It was a grotesque feeling.
Augusta leaned over to him, with mingling caution and worry in her face. "Woe, are you well?"
Woe nodded, "Yes. Did you have any contact with the Duke himself?"
Augusta paused for a moment, leani9ng back into her chair and crossing her arms, "No, he did little else for me but acknowledge me."
Woe thought about it. Something about the entire story seemed off. Augusta may have been lying about some aspect, or Olga had been, or the Duke. In any event, did the truth really matter as much as how Augusta felt about it? Ultimately, he was unsure if feelings outweighed knowledge of the truth. But in this case, where the truth could never fully be known for certain, Woe had to consider that the thing that really mattered, was that Augusta could find a way past this confusion.
"So you may never know the truth, with the Duke having been brutally murdered, just weeks before your... before Olga." Woe felt suddenly the weight of what he'd done. But he pushed that concern down to the back of his mind for now. This wasn't about him.
"Augusta, what is really bothering you then? You know it doesn't matter whose blood you share. These bonds are ill-conceived and have to choose whether to disregard them or reconcile. I don't know what the right way to go is. What I do know, is that you had family who didn't abandon you in light of these doubts. That would be Filipe. You can choose to find upset in the wounds your mother inflicted upon you reinforced by the Duke's claim, or you can be satisfied with the acceptance you have found."
Augusta bowed her head and shrugged. "I miss him, sometimes. I wish he was here."
Woe had to ask because obviously there was a question of what had gone on between her and her father. "What happened? Why did you leave your father's house?"
"I couldn't...' Augusta started to say, but stopped herself short, choking on a sob. "I couldn't look at him, knowing what I took. What we took from him."
Woe had to suppress his sense of intense guilt here, and focused solely on Augusta's mental state. Sorrow was contagious, and Woe wouldn't allow his own tears to detract from Augusta's catharsis. He reached out a hand, offering to take hers, "Augusta..." His mind ran through the things he could tell her. He could've told her that his father loved his male associate Julos more than he ever had Olga, that she was nothing but a beard to him. But that wasn't entirely true, was it? Filipe may have had a preference for men, but he couldn't have abided Olga, such a spiteful and difficult woman, without some level of genuine affection. Could he? Woe chose not to think so, at least for the sake of assuming the worst was true, that they'd stolen something precious from Filipe.
"It wasn't your choice to make, to exile yourself from Father Filipe in order to escape the guilt. That has clearly not worked, anyway..."
Woe didn't know what the best avenue to go here. Could one absolve another of murder? He could make her forget, couldn't he? Was that, ethical? Woe didn't hold her responsible anyway. It was his hand that had bled Olga dry, after all. She'd only related her fury, which in turn motivated his murderous intent.
He would take the blame from her, if he could. "Augusta, this weighs heavily upon you, for no reason. It was my doing. If you need someone to blame, please, don't choose yourself."
Giselde watched curiously as they chattered in Vahanic. Perhaps wondering what it was they were saying. Of course, Woe would be mortified if she understood it all along, but he didn't think so. Vahanic was about as far removed from Scalveen and Common as one could.
He rubbed Augusta's hand for a few more moments, trying to console her. He reflected that he may have to wipe her memory. He couldn't absolve such a blow of guilt from her by virtue of his words. There had to be a concrete break from the source of the guilt. And he only knew of one way for that to come to fruition.
Nevertheless, their session was coming to a close. Though he'd tried to console her, he'd had little effect with just his words. So he shared a cup of Chamomile tea with her, to take the edge off her nerves. He spent much of the rest of the day talking to her, talking about anything to get her mind off of the upset that prompted her visit. When he was reasonably confident that she'd calmed down, he escorted her back to the house he'd rented for her.
